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OF 

STENDHAL 
Translated  by  Richard  N.  Coe 


This  is  the  first  complete  translation  of 
Stendhal's  great  study,  which  has  been 
called  by  Ernest  Newman  the  best 
appreciation  of  Rossini  ever  written. 
A  layman  with  a  passion  for  music, 
Stendhal  was  the  first  to  recognise  the 
genius  of  this  important  composer  who 
again  today  has  resumed  his  place 
among  the  most  popular  of  Italian 
composers. 

Stendhal's  introduction  gives  a  history 
of  the  interregnum  between  the  depar 
ture  of  Cimarosa  and  the  coming  of 
Rossini.  Details  of  the  early  iiie  of 
Rossini  are  followed  by  penetrating 
discussion  on  the  operas,  libretti, 
personalities  of  the  period  and  on 
Rossini's  own  character.  A  whole 
chapter  is  devoted  to  his  wild  sense  of 
humor. 

Written  by  a  layman  for  laymen,  this  is 
not  only  a  book  for  music  lovers,  but 
also  for  lovers  of  great  literature,  who 
will  find  in  this  book  a  faithful  trans 
lation  of  one  of  the  great  flowers  of 
French  prose  ^riling. 


AUG     61978 


780.92  R83b 

Beyle 

Life  of  Rossini 


67-10590 


LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 


through  the  air, 
ike  Wafers  with  a  thr ead'aT) out  their  feWt:*"~~" 
-  Aristophanes. 


Rossini 


LIFE 

OF 
ROSSINI 

BY 

STENDHAL 

Translated  by 
RICHARD  N.   COE 


CRITERION    BOOKS 
NEW    YORK 


Copyright  ©  1957  by  Criterion  Books,  Inc. 
Library  of  Congress  Catalog  Card  Number:  57-6600 


All  rights  reserved 


Printed  in  Great  Britain 


TRANSLATOR'S   FOREWORD 


KAWSAS  CITY  (MO.)  PUBLIC  LIBRARY 


H, 


TRANSLATOR'S    FOREWORD 


.  ENRI  BEYLE,  whom  the  public  was  already  coming  to  know  as 
Stendhal,  was  about  thirty-one  years  old,  and  had  already  experi 
enced  much  of  the  world — including  the  retreat  from  Moscow — 
when  he  chanced  to  hear  a  German  military  band  in  Milan  playing  a 
curiously  lilting  melody  in  an  unfamiliar  idiom.  He  enquired  after 
the  composer,  more  from  idle  curiosity,  perhaps,  than  from  any  other 
motive,  and  learnt  that  the  maestro  was  "a  young  man  named 
Rossini",  and  that  the  tune  which  had  so  intrigued  him  was  the  duet : 
Ti  rivedrd,  mi  rivedrai ...  from  an  opera  called  TancredL 

The  year  was  1814,  and  Rossini  was  enjoying  the  first  upsurge  of 
his  amazing  popularity;  but  Henri  Beyle  was  a  most  obstinate  indi 
vidualist,  and  by  no  means  inclined  to  echo  the  hysterical  and  un 
reasoning  applause  of  the  crowd.  Rossini,  admittedly,  was  a  glorious 
sun  compared  with  the  dim  candle-light  of  a  Portogallo,  a  Zingarelli 
or  a  Simon  Mayr ;  but  what  was  Rossini  beside  a  Mozart,  a  Cimarosa, 
or  even  a  Paesiello?  Rossini's  brittle  and  superficial  tunefulness  was 
to  be  enjoyed  rather  than  revered;  and  for  some  years,  Beyle  con 
tinued  to  be  cool  in  his  appraisal,  and  moderate  in  his  judgment. 

But  if  Rossini  was  all  the  rage  in  Italy,  in  France  he  was  treated  as 
an  ill-bred  parvenu,  whose  cheap  popularity  was  an  insult  to  a  great 
musical  tradition.  Not  merely  did  the  ponderous  Berton  reflect  the 
attitude  of  the  Conservatoire  in  a  series  of  hostile  critical  articles ;  but, 
thanks  to  the  jealous  machinations  of  Paer,  who  was  at  that  time 
director  of  the  Theatre  Italien,  Rossini's  operas  were  offered  to 
Parisian  audiences  in  so  mutilated  a  form  that  the  music  which  was 
heard  under  the  misleading  titles  of  Tancredi  or  Vltaliana  in  Algeri 
was  little  more  than  a  travesty  of  the  true  score.  So,  if  Beyle's  refusal 
to  move  with  the  crowd  had,  while  he  remained  in  Milan,  tended  to 
make  him  cool  in  his  attitude  towards  Rossini,  this  same  contrari 
ness,  once  he  had  travelled  northwards  over  the  Alps  towards  Paris, 
served  to  imbue  him  with  the  purest  fire  of  Rossinian  ardour.  And, 
from  1821  onwards,  he  was  in  fact  obliged  to  live  in  Paris,  since  the 
Milanese  authorities,  suspecting  him  of  being  a  French  secret  agent, 


Vlii  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

had  requested  him  to  leave  the  country.  Thus  it  comes  about  that,  in 
1822,  we  find  Beyle  constituting  himself  the  most  fervent  advocate  of 
Rossinian  opera  in  a  society  which  is  still  largely  indifferent  to  this 
new  genius  from  Pesaro. 

The  first  contribution  which  he  was  to  make  to  the  furthering  of 
his  newly-adopted  cause  was  an  article  on  Rossini  written  for  an 
English  journal  published  in  France,  the  Paris  Monthly  Review 
(January  1822).  Proof  that  the  subject  was  of  interest  to  the  general 
reader  was  not  long  in  forthcoming,  for  the  article  was  promptly 
pirated  by  two  major  English  reviews  of  the  period,  Blackwood's 
Edinburgh  Magazine  (October  1822)  and  Galignani's  Monthly  Review 
(November  1822) ;  while  in  Italy,  not  only  did  the  substance  of  Beyle's 
study  reappear  in  translation  in  a  Milanese  periodical,  but  this  same 
version  was  subsequently  reprinted  in  book  form.1 

If  the  French  and  English  readers  received  their  first  survey  of 
Rossini  and  Ms  music,  all  in  all,  with  favourable  interest,  the  Italians 
were  profoundly  shocked;  for  Beyle,  whose  musical  insight  is  both 
sensitive  and  profound,  still  obstinately  maintained  at  least  a  part  of 
his  original  critical  position,  and  insisted  that  the  music  of  the 
Barber,  for  all  its  piquant  and  delicious  gaiety,  was  still  less  powerful, 
less  evocative,  and  perhaps  even  less  permanent,  than  the  music  of 
Don  Giovanni:  Such  contempt  for  the  national  hero  on  the  lips  of  an 
impudent  foreign  calumniator  was  hardly  to  be  borne,  least  of  all 
while  the  original  Ro$ina,  Signora  Geltrude  Giorgi-Righetti,  was 
there  to  defend  her  adored  maestro.  The  defence  was  published  in 
Bologna  in  1823,  under  the  title  of  Reminiscences  of  a  sometime 
prima-donna,  concerning  the  composer  Rossini  ...;2  and  this  curious 
document  constitutes  one  of  the  earliest  authentic  studies  of  Rossini 
by  a  person  who  had  a  comparatively  intimate  personal  knowledge  of 
him. 

Meanwhile,  Beyle,  encouraged  by  the  unexpected  success  of  his 
first  venture,  had  decided  to  follow  up  this  initial  victory  with  a 
History  of  Music  in  Italy,,  1800-1823,  which  he  intended  to  have  trans 
lated  and  published  in  England.  For  various  reasons,  however,  the 

1  Rossini  e  la  sua  Musica.  Milano,  dalla  tipografia  di  Felice  Rusconi,  contrada 
di  S.Paolo,  No.  11 77  (1824). 

2  See  Bibliography.  The  work  (which  is  very  rare  in  the  original)  has  been 
reproduced  in  full  in  Henry  Prun&res'  edition  of  the  Vie  de  RossinL  vol.  2, 
pp.  433-474. 


TRANSLATOR'S  FOREWORD  ix 

MS.  was  withdrawn  at  the  last  minute;  reluctant  to  waste  good  work 
done,  the  author  began  to  cast  about  for  some  means  of  using  at  least 
part  of  what  he  had  already  written  in  a  new  shape;  and  so  the 
months  from  January  to  September  1823  were  spent  converting 
much  of  the  material  accumulated  into  a  Life  of  Rossini. 

Warned  by  his  experience  with  Signora  Giorgi-Righetti,  who  had 
not  failed  to  point  out  the  wretched  "English  journalist's"  criminal 
ignorance  in  matters  of  detail,  Beyle  this  time  was  at  some  pains  to 
make  certain  of  his  facts;  and  a  first  draft  of  the  book — based  almost 
entirely  upon  this  laboriously  accumulated  factual  evidence — was 
ready  in  the  spring  of  1823.  At  about  the  same  time,  it  began  to  be 
rumoured  that  Rossini  was  to  visit  England;  and  the  English  pub 
lishers,  anxious  to  meet  this  sudden  market  with  a  * 'best-seller", 
hurriedly  had  the  MS.  translated,  and  published  it  as  rapidly  as 
possible  (January  1824).  Meanwhile,  however,  Beyle  had  taken  up 
his  original  draft,  which  was  neat,  balanced,  factual  and  dull,  and 
was  rapidly  destroying  every  claim  to  neatness,  factuality  and  balance 
which  it  had  ever  possessed,  in  the  joyous  process  of  turning  it  into 
one  of  the  great  masterpieces  of  musical  criticism.  In  April,  1824, 
when  the  first  French  edition  appeared,  the  simple  narrative  of 
Rossini's  career  had  almost  disappeared  beneath  a  most  wondrous 
mass  of  anecdotes  and  descriptions,  tables  and  footnotes,  theatrical 
admonitions  and  philosophical  speculations;  and  the  volume  which 
finally  took  its  place  on  the  bookshelves  of  enthusiasts  in  every 
country  was  well  over  twice  the  length  of  the  little  opportunist 
pamphlet  which  had  been  released  on  the  occasion  of  Rossini's  visit 
to  London. 

In  1824,  when  the  Life  was  published,  Rossini  himself  was  thirty- 
two;  and  he  had  another  forty-four  years  to  live.  Yet  in  spite  of  this, 
Beyle's  analysis  covers  almost  everything  which  is  of  lasting  musical 
value  in  Rossini's  work,  with  the  exception  of  Le  Comte  Ory, 
Guillaume  Tell,  and  the  collection  of  miscellaneous  musical  satires 
and  cameos  entitled  Peches  de  Vieillesse,  which  Respighi,  many  years 
later,  was  to  weave  into  the  ballet-suite  La  Boutique  Fzntasque.  As  a 
pure  biographer,  obviously  Beyle  is  at  a  greater  disadvantage;  never 
theless,  the  fact  remains  that  the  majority  of  those  who  have  written 
subsequent  Lives  of  Rossini  have  been  quite  content  to  dismiss  the 


X  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

last  forty  years  of  the  composer's  existence  in  a  final,  abrupt  chapter 
or  so  at  the  end  of  the  book;  with  the  result  that  this  "amateur"  bio 
graphy,  with  all  its  inaccuracies  and  its  fatal  weakness  for  anecdote, 
has  formed  the  basis  for  every  serious  study  which  appeared  in  print 
between  the  day  of  its  original  publication,  and  the  day,  over  a 
century  later,,  when  Professor  Radiciotti's  authoritative  three-volume 
Vita  came  at  last  to  replace  the  delicious  inaccuracies  of  the  dilettante 
with  the  matter-of-fact  realities  of  the  scholar.  But  if  Beyle  is  no 
longer  satisfying  as  a  factual  biographer,  he  remains  unrivalled  in 
penetration  and  interest  as  a  critic;  for  his  criticism  is  not  so  much 
analysis  as  interpretation— the  very  personal  interpretation  of  a  man 
of  genius,  who  was  a  rebel  against  the  taste  of  his  own  century,  and 
deeply  sympathetic  in  his  appeal  to  the  imagination  of  our  own. 

Our  last  glimpse  of  Rossini  in  the  Life  is  of  his  marriage  to  Isabella 
Colbran  and  his  final  farewell  to  Naples;  the  last  opera  which  Beyle 
describes  is  Semir amide  (Feb.  1823).  In  March  1822,  the  Rossinis  had 
included  in  their  honeymoon  a  four-months'  stay  in  Vienna,  where 
Zelmira  had  been  produced  on  13th  April;  this  visit  was  the  occasion 
of  the  famous  meeting  with  Beethoven,  and  of  a  notorious  outburst 
of  jealousy  and  ill-temper  from  Weber,  already  broken  by  ill-health 
and  overwork.  The  winter  of  1822-3  was  spent  largely  in  Venice 
working  on  Semiramide;  and  in  the  autumn,  after  a  quiet  summer, 
Rossini  and  Isabella  set  out  for  London  to  fulfil  a  contract  at  the 
King's  Theatre.  En  route,  they  had  their  first  glimpse  of  Paris  (where 
the/ft^  and  banqueting  reached  such  proportions  that  they  inspired 
a  mordant  little  satirical  vaudeville  from  Scribe:  Rossini  a  Paris,  ou 
Le  Grand  Diner) ;  and  on  the  7th  of  December,  in  a  violent  storm, 
they  crossed  the  Channel. 

Rossini's  visit  to  England  (then  at  one  of  its  periodical  musical  low 
ebbs)  was  extremely  profitable  financially,  and  is  rich  in  anecdote  for 
the  historian;  but  musically  it  produced  nothing  more  valuable  than 
an  insignificant  octet  for  voices:  //  Pianto  delle  Muse  in  Morte  di 
Lord  Byron  (9th  June  1824).  Six  months  after  his  arrival,  Rossini 
left  these  philistine  shores  with  175,000  francs  already  in  his  pocket, 
and  the  promise  of  a  contract  with  the  Italian  Opera  in  Paris  to  con 
vince  him  that  his  hand-to-mouth  existence  as  a  wandering  musician 
was  really  ended.  In  the  autumn  of  1824,  the  contract  was  confirmed; 
he  was  to  receive  20,000  francs  a  year  to  direct  the  Theatre  Italien  in 


TRANSLATOR'S  FOREWORD  xi 

the  place  of  his  old  enemy  Paer;  yet,  with  unwonted  tact  or  gener 
osity,  he  insisted  that  Paer  should  remain  his  associate.  Nevertheless, 
partly  because  of  the  reorganization  required,  and  partly  because  of 
his  own  laziness,  nearly  a  year  passed  before  his  first  new  opera  was 
produced. 

And  even  then,  it  turned  out  to  be  scarcely  more  than  a  morceau 
de  circonstance:  II  Viaggio  a  Reims,  ossia  VAlbergo  del  Giglio  d'Oro, 
written  for  the  coronation  of  Charles  X  (19th  June  1825);  such 
success  as  it  had  was  short-lived,  and  Rossini  soon  discarded  it, 
reserving  its  better  numbers  for  incorporation  elsewhere  when  the 
time  came.  The  remainder  of  the  year  was  taken  up,  ostensibly,  with 
the  first  production  of  Meyerbeer's  //  Crociato  (September  1825),  but 
in  fact  with  a  slow  and  important  inner  revolution:  the  assimilation 
of  the  French  operatic  tradition.  Two  milestones  reveal  the  progress 
made  by  Rossini  in  this  conscious  process  of  de-italianization:  Le 
Siege  de  Corinthe  (9th  October  1826),  which  is  a  French  re-writing  of 
the  Italian  Maometto  II;  and  Mo'ise  (26th  March  1827),  in  which  a 
similar  process  of  transformation  is  applied  to  the  older  Italian  Mosb 
in  Egitto.  Although  both  these  operas  were  highly  successful,  and  had 
something  positive  to  contribute  to  the  musical  climate  of  the  time 
(Le  Siege  has  been  called  "the  first  Grand  Opera"),  neither  is  strictly 
speaking  a  new  or  original  work.  In  fact,  over  five  years  separate 
Semiramide  from  Rossini's  next  major  opera,  Le  Comte  Ory,  which 
was  produced  on  20th  August  1828. 

Le  Comte  Ory  reveals  the  extent  of  the  transformation  which  had 
taken  place  in  Rossini's  musical  technique;  for  not  merely  was  it 
designed  specifically  to  please  a  French  audience,  but  in  fact  it  suc 
ceeded  to  such  a  degree  that  it  may  be  considered  as  the  source  of  a 
new  genre  altogether — the  French  operetta  of  the  XlXth  century  tra 
dition;  and  if,  on  the  one  hand,  Rossini's  influence  may  be  traced  in 
composers  such  as  Donizetti,  Bellini,  Mercadante  and  even  the 
young  Verdi,  on  the  other,  his  musical  disciples  must  certainly  be 
held  to  include  Auber,  Messager  and  Offenbach. 

A  year  after  Le  Comte  Ory  came  the  second,  and  final,  major  opera 
of  the  Parisian  period:  Guillaume  Tell  (3rd  August  1829).  In  Le 
Comte  Ory,  Rossini,  for  the  first  time  since  the  Barber,  had  been 
blessed  with  a  supremely  competent  libretto;1  it  is  the  tragedy  of 

1  By  Scribe. 


Xli  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

Guillaume  Tell  that  Jouy's  bathetic  text  based  on  Schiller's  drama  is 
almost  beyond  redemption.  Guillaume  Tell  is  a  "musician's  opera" ; 
no  student  of  Rossini  can  deny  the  power  and  originality  of  its  score; 
and  yet,  somehow,  like  Victor  Hugo's  Burgraves,  it  seems  to  belong 
to  that  strange  class  of  indigestible  masterpieces  whose  greatness  is  so 
much  beyond  dispute  that  we  would  rather  listen  to  something  else. 
Yet  it  marks  the  climax  of  an  epoch  in  more  ways  than  one,  for,  on 
13th  August  1829,  Rossini  left  Paris  en  route  for  Milan  and  Bologna. 
He  was  now  thirty-seven,  he  had  composed  some  thirty-nine  operas 
in  nineteen  years,  and  he  felt  that  he  had  earned  a  rest.  The  "rest" 
was  to  last  until  13th  November  1868— -the  day  of  his  death. 

Many  reasons  have  been  advanced  to  explain  Rossini's  "great 
renunciation".  He  himself  insisted  above  all  that  he  felt  his  music  to 
be  dangerously  out  of  harmony  with  the  political  drift  of  the  eighteen- 
thirties  and  eighteen-forties.  Other  biographers  have  maintained  that 
he  had  simply  written  himself  out ;  that  he  was  ill,  disastrously  ill,  and 
in  fact  had  already  been  having  serious  neurasthenic  attacks  as  early 
as  August  1825;  that  he  was  jealous  of  "the  Jews"  (Hal6vy  and 
Meyerbeer);  that  the  type  of  singer  for  whom  he  was  accustomed  to 
score  his  works  was  to  grow  increasingly  rare  after  1 830,  and  that  this 
fact  upset  the  whole  delicate  balance  of  his  musical  sensitivity;  that 
he  was  violently  offended  by  the  cancellation  of  his  Paris  contract 
after  the  revolution  of  1830;  or  finally,  that  he  was  simply  idle  by 
nature,  and  that,  if  poverty  had  forced  him  to  work  for  a  living  in  his 
youth,  success  had  taken  from  him  the  last  obligation  to  exert  himself 
at  the  irksome  and  uncongenial  labour  of  composition.  The  probable 
truth  is  that  all  these  were  in  some  degree  contributory  causes  to  his 
ultimate  decision.  However,  the  fact  remains  that,  apart  from  one  or 
two  works  of  a  very  different  character  (notably  the  Stabat  Mater 
(1842),  the  Petite  Messe  Solennelle  (1864),  and  the  delightfully  miscel 
laneous  Peches  de  Vieillesse  (1857-68),  to  which  reference  has  already 
been  made,  Rossini's  musical  biography  ends  with  Guillaume  Tell 

The  remainder  of  his  life  is  strangely  uneventful.  His  adored 
mother  had  died  in  1827;  his  father,  to  whom  in  the  end  he  became 
scarcely  less  devoted,  followed  her  in  1839.  The  marriage  with 
Isabella  Colbran  was  a  disastrous  failure,  and  was  ended  by  an 
official  separation  (1836-7);  but  already  in  1832  Rossini  had  made 
the  acquaintance  of  Olympe  Pelissier,  a  retired  demi-mondaine  with 


TRANSLATOR'S  FOREWORD  xiii 

strong  maternal  instincts,  who  was  to  become  his  most  faithful 
mistress,  companion  and  watch-dog,  and  eventually  (August  1846), 
after  the  death  of  Isabella,  his  second  wife.  It  was  Olympe  who 
nursed  him  through  his  terrible  nervous  illnesses  of  1852-5,  and  who, 
in  the  last  calm  period  in  Paris,  organized  his  household,  "rationed" 
his  constant  flow  of  visitors,  and  presided  over  the  famous  "Saturday 
evenings",  whose  informal  music-making  was  to  be  the  envy  of 
Europe.  It  was  she  also  who  watched  over  her  husband's  table;  for 
Rossini's  final  reputation  as  a  gourmet  was  almost  as  notable  as  his 
earlier  fame  as  a  composer;  and  tournedos  Rossini  still  sometimes 
figures  on  the  menu  in  those  great  houses  where  dining  is  considered 
an  art  rather  than  a  process.  His  intimate  friends  were  the  composer 
Carafa,  and  (until  his  death  in  1842)  the  banker  Aguado;  to  the 
caricaturists  of  his  day,  he  was  an  avaricious  cynic  with  a  biting, 
satirical  wit;  but  to  his  closer  acquaintances  he  was  the  patient  and 
conscientious  reformer  of  the  Liceo  Musicale  at  Bologna,  and  the 
generous  patron  and  protector  of  Bellini,  of  the  tenor  Ivanoff,  of 
Bizet,  Gabrieli,  and  of  that  pious-minded  and  desperately  serious 
young  man  from  London— Arthur  Sullivan.  In  1836,  he  was  so  upset 
by  a  jaunt  in  a  railway-train  in  Antwerp  that  he  vowed  never  to 
travel  again  by  this  devilish  means  of  locomotion;  in  1848,  a  few 
insults  hurled  against  his  idle  political  indifference  by  a  rioting  mob 
in  Bologna,  soured  for  ever  his  delight  in  that  great  city;  and  hence 
forward  he  was  to  live  in  Florence  and  Paris  until  the  end  of  his  days. 
In  1860,  he  received  a  memorable  visit  from  Wagner;  and  in  1868, 
he  was  serenaded  by  the  soloists  and  orchestra  of  the  Paris  opera  in 
the  middle  of  the  Chauss6e  d'Antin— for  Guittaume  Tell  had  just 
received  its  500th  performance.  But  on  the  whole,  few  subjects 
interested  him  less  than  his  own  music;  his  modesty  increased  as  his 
achievements  receded;  the  more  he  heard  of  Wagner,  the  more  he 
revered  Bach;  and  in  the  end,  when  a  visitor  had  the  impertinence  to 
ask  him  which  he  thought  the  greatest  of  his  operas,  he  snapped 
back:  Don  Giovanni! 

Such  are  the  latter  days  of  the  boisterous,  irrepressible  practical 
joker,  from  whom,  in  Beyle's  company,  we  take  leave  in  1823. 

This  translation  of  the  Vie  de  Rossiniis  based  on  the  critical  edition 
by  Henry  Prunieres  (2  vols.,  Champion  1922),  which  is  included  in 


XIV  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

the  Oeuvres  Completes  de  Stendhal  under  the  general  editorship  of 
Paul  Arbelet  and  Edouard  Champion.  Occasional  corrections  have 
been  introduced  from  the  edition  by  Henri  Martineau  (Le  Divan, 
2  vols.,  1929).  The  text  is  given  "complete  and  unabridged",  with  all 
its  footnotes,  digressions  and  irrelevancies;  for  only  by  such  a  trans 
lation  can  the  true  flavour  of  Stendhal's  masterpiece  be  preserved. 
The  only  serious  liberty  which  has  been  taken  with  the  original  occurs 
in  the  section  devoted  to  Otello,  where  the  final  paragraphs  of 
Chapter  XVIII  have  been  transferred  to  the  beginning  of  Chapter 
XIX,  in  order  that  the  reader  who  uses  the  book  chiefly  as  a  series  of 
opera-analyses  may  find  all  the  relevant  comments  about  Otello 
under  one  heading. 

All  Stendhal's  critical  writings  are  rich  in  references  to  contempor 
ary  personalities — so  rich  that,  in  order  to  avoid  losing  the  original 
text  altogether  in  a  grotesque  labyrinth  of  footnotes  (Stendhal's  and 
my  own),  I  have  preferred  to  compile  an  Index  at  the  end  which  gives 
a  certain  minimum  of  necessary  information.  Such  few  footnotes 
of  my  own  as  have  seemed  indispensable  are  signed  (Trans.);  all 
others  are  Stendhal's  own  additions  in  the  original  French.  For 
the  section  at  the  end  headed  Notes  (to  which  references  are 
indicated  by  an  asterisk  *  in  the  text),  I  am  heavily  indebted  to 
Henry  Prunieres,  particularly  in  the  matter  of  correcting  Stendhal's 
many  minor  errors  of  fact.  I  also  gratefully  acknowledge  my 
indebtedness  to  Mr  Frederick  May  for  his  help  with  the  various 
passages  of  Italian;  to  Miss  Rita  Eldon  for  checking  the  proofs;  and 
to  Mademoiselle  Marie-Louise  Thyss  for  her  ferocious  determina 
tion  to  extract  some  sort  of  positive  meaning  from  one  or  two  of 
Stendhal's  unhappily  less  lucid  sentences. 

RICHARD  N.   COB, 

Leeds,  April  1956. 

A  Note  on  Currency 

The  following  note  was  kindly  supplied  at  my  request  by  Mr 
Walter  Newlyn,  Lecturer  in  Economics  in  the  University  of  Leeds : 

In  1823,  the  franc  was  worth  9\d.  (25  fr.  =  £1).  By  combining  some 
very  rough  index-figures  of  prices,  it  would  seem  reasonable  to  say  that 
the  present  (1955)  value  of  the  pound  is  ^  times  its  1823  value.  This 
would  give  a  conversion-factor  often  1823  francs  to  to-day's  pound. 


CONTENTS* 

page 

Frontispiece  facing  iii 

Translator's  Foreword  vii 

Preface  1 

INTRODUCTION 

I  Cimarosa  3 

II  Of  Certain   Differences  between  German  and 
Italian  Music 

Anecdote  concerning  Torquato  Tasso,  in  1816 — imagina 
tion  paralysed  by  memory-— physical  environment  essential 
to  the  enjoyment  of  music:  size  of  theatres;  desirable 
situation  of  the  body;  adequate  ventilation — bright  light 
fatal  to  the  effect  of  music.  5 

in    History  of  the  Interregnum  between  the  De 
parture  of  Cimarosa  and  the  Coming  of  Rossini 

General  survey  of  the  works  and  genius  of  Mayer — the 
duets  from  Ariodante  and  from  la  Rosa  bianca,  Mayer's 
masterpieces — Paer  and  his  principal  compositions.  16 

iv   Mozart  in  Italy 

A  certain  Nobleman  makes  a  wager  concerning  Mozart 
and  introduces  him  to  Italy — brief  comment  on  Mozart's 
style — stylistic  differences  between  Mozart,  Cimarosa  and 
Rossini.  27 

V   Mozart's  Style  34 

CHAPTER  I 

Early  Years 

Civilization  born  on  the  shores  of  the  Mediterranean; 
condition  of  the  peoples  of  that  region  in  our  present  time; 
love  and  pleasure  preferred  to  war;  misfortunes  of  Italy  in 
consequence  of  this  preference — France  and  England 
compared  in  relation  to  the  Arts — Musical  tendencies  of 
Rossini's  parents.  41 


XVi  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  II 

TANCREDI,  Rossini's  First  Opera  Seria 

The  opening  chorus  of  Tancredi  pastoral  rather  than 
martial  in  conception — la  Malanotte  turns  down  an  aria 
that  Rossini  had  composed  for  Tancred's  entry;  he  there 
fore  substitutes  the  ariardi  tanti palpiti — the  role  of  har 
mony  in  music  compared  with  the  role  of  description  in 
Walter  Scott's  novels — martial  duet:  Ah!  se  de9  mall  miei.  50 

CHAPTER  III 

L'ITALIANA  IN  ALGERI 

How  to  treat  the  libretto  of  an  opera  at  the  first  performance 
— characteristic  features  of  the  music  of  Vltaliana — 
curious  generosity  evinced  by  the  audience  of  the  Thedtre 
Louvois.  68 

CHAPTER  IV 

LA  PIETRA  DEL  PARAGONE 

The  famous  aria:  Eco  pietosa  suppressed  in  Paris  by  per 
sons  who  hoped  to  keep  Rossini's  genius  concealed  from 
French  dilettanti — la  Pietra  delParagone  concludes  with  a 
grand  aria  for  the  prima  donna,  like  Vltaliana  and  la 
Cenerentola.  84 


CHAPTER  V 

Conscription  and  Envy 

M.  Berton  and  le  Miroir— Rossini  guilty  of  "syntactical 
errors"  and  accused  of  stylistic  impurity;  unpardonable 
vices,  according  to  M.  Berton.  95 

CHAPTER  VI 

The  Impressario  and  his  Theatre 
Rossini's  retort  to  a  certain  pedantic  Monsignore — re 
marks  on  a  comedy  by  Sografi  concerning  the  vanity  of 
the   average    opera-singer— La  prima   sera   (first   per 
formance).  104 


CONTENTS  XV11 

CHAPTER  VII 

Of  the  Wars  between  Harmony  and  Melody 

The  sweet  succulence  of  a  peach  is  finally  not  preferred  to 
the  harshness  of  more  adult  tastes— chronological  list  of 
the  major  representatives  of  the  Italian  school. 

115 

CHAPTER  VIII 

Of  the  Invasion  by  the  Blunt-Minded,  and 
of  the  Ideology  of  Music 

Careless  scoring  by  Rossini  indicated  by  a  +  —  the  com 
poser  who  complicates  his  accompaniments  restricts  the 
freedom  of  the  singer — Rossini's  accompaniments  are 
dangerous,  not  so  much  for  their  quality  as  for  their 
quantity — the  orchestra  of  the  Theatre  Louvois — the 
indication  piano  considered  as  a  sign  of  weakness.  123 

CHAPTER  IX 

AURELIANO  IN  PALMIRA 

A  superb  duet:  se  tu  m'ami,  o  mia  regina — DEMETRIO  E 
POLIBIO,  Rossini's  first  opera  (spring,  1809) — opening  of 
the  new  theatre  at  Como.  131 

CHAPTER  x 
IL  TURCO  IN  ITALIA  139 

CHAPTER  XI 

Rossini  in  Naples 

Rossini  signs  a  scrittura  with  SignorBarbaja — concerning 
a  certain  Neapolitan  prima  donna  and  the  influence  of  her 
voice  upon  Rossini's  subsequent  work.  147 

CHAPTER  XII 
ELISABETTA,  REGINA  D'lNGHILTERRA  152 

CHAPTER  XIII 

ELISABETTA,  REGINA  D'lNGHILTERRA  (continued) 
An  Italian  Ode  on  the  Death  of  Napoleon,  to  be  compared 
with  Lord  Byron's  ode  on  the  same  topic,  and  with 


xviii  CONTENTS 

Lamartine's  Meditations-— -Rossini's  style  criticized  by  the 
older  generation  of  Neapolitan  dilettanti,  who  had  been 
contemporaries  of  Cimarosa  and  Paesiello.  157 

CHAPTER  XIV 

The  ten  Operas  of  Rossini's  "Neapolitan"  Period   1 65 

CHAPTER  XV 
TORVALDO  E  DORLISKA  169 

CHAPTER  XVI 

IL  BARBIERE  DI  SIVIGLIA 

Cimarosa  made  no  use  of  discords  in  ilMatrimonio  segreto, 
in  spite  of  the  popularity  which  Mozart's  major  operas 
had  already  won— Rossini's  adventures  in  Rome.  171 

CHAPTER  XVII 

Of  the  Public  in  General,  Considered  in  Relation 
to  Art 

Solitude  and  church-singing—origins  of  "taste"  in  operatic 
music— of  the  provinces,  considered  in  relation  to  art.  1 97 

CHAPTER  XVIII 

OTELLO 

Analysis  of  jealousy  as  a  valid  source  of  dramatic  emotion 
— curious  observation  by  the  abb6  Girard  (1746),  con 
cerning  married  women,  who  are  permitted  to  be  flirtatious, 
but  forbidden  to  be  passionate— the  librettist  of  Otello 
fails  to  develop  the  dramatic  situations  which  are  inherent 
in  so  noble  a  theme — Mr  Kean,  the  greatest  tragic  actor  of 
our  age — his  fame  not  universal,  because  no  major  popular 
author,  such  as  Madame  de  Stael,  has  yet  sung  his  praises 
as  he  deserves.  206 

CHAPTER  XIX 

OTELLO  (continued) 

Which  is  the  finest  number  in  this  opera? — the  music  set 
to  the  line:  Impia,  ti  maledico,  is  better  suited  to  some 


CONTENTS  Xix 

different  words,  such  as:  Out  of  my  sight!  I  do  no  longer 
love  thee! — the  Willow  Song — dramatic  representation  of 
the  death  of  Desdemona  in  certain  Italian  theatres — story 
of  the  death  of  Stradella.  215 

CHAPTER  XX 
LA  CENERENTOLA 

Music  incapable  of  portraying  rapid  dialogue — melody 
incapable  of  half-finished  sketches—delightful  duet  be 
tween  the  Prince  and  his  valet — Paccini — laughter  ban 
ished  from  the  soil  of  France — the  "national  ideal"  in 
music,  and  its  relation  to  climatic  conditions — three  operas 
by  Rossini  which  conclude  with  a  "grand  aria'9  for  the 
prima  donna.  234 

CHAPTER  XXI 

Velluti 

Comparison  between  Velluti  and  M.  Martin.  254 

CHAPTER  XXII 
LA  GAZZA  LADRA 

Immense  popularity  of  this  opera — overture — musical 
analysis.  258 

CHAPTER  XXIII 

LA  GAZZA  LADRA  (continued) 

The  orchestra  of  the  Thedtre  Louvois — the  majority  of 
Rossini's  tempi  radically  altered  by  the  conductor  of  this 
orchestra.  279 

CHAPTER  XXIV 

Of  the  Quality  of  Admiration  in  France,  or 
An  Essay  concerning  Grand  Opera 

Political  and  moral  transformation  of  the  state  of  France 
between  1765  and  1823 — Napoleon  Bonaparte;  the  com 
plete  master  of  truth — epigram  by  Tortoni.  292 

CHAPTER  XXV 

Of  the  Two  Enthusiasts  301 


XX  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  XXVI 

MOSE  IN  EGITTO 

Musical  analysis — overwhelming  effect  of  the  prayer:  Dal 

tuo  stellato  soglio — comparison  of  Rossini  with  Goethe.      307 

CHAPTER  XXVII 

Concerning  the  Revolution  which  Rossini  has 
brought  about  in  the  Art  of  Singing 

Napoleon  compared  with  Sulla — anecdote  concerning 
Canova  and  the  Savage.  318 

CHAPTER  XXVIII 

Some  General  Considerations:  the  History  of 
Rossini's  Development,  examined  in  relation  to 
Developments  in  the  Art  of  Singing  324 

CHAPTER  XXIX 

Revolution 

Rossini's  system — Rossini  as  an  accomplished  singer- 
Rossini's  "second  manner".  328 

CHAPTER  XXX 

Of  a  certain  Talent  which  will  be  out  of  date  bv 
1840  *  334 

CHAPTER  XXXI 

Is  Rossini  more  inclined  to  repeat  himself  than 
other  Composers? 

Some  technical  details — aesthetic  failings  of  the  Louvois 
audiences — their  failure  to  develop  sound  standards  of 
musical  taste.  335 

CHAPTER  XXXII 

Some  Details  concerning  the  Revolution   in 
augurated  by  Rossini 
Paganini,  the  greatest  of  Italian  violinists.  341 


CONTENTS  XXI 

CHAPTER  XXXIII 

Excuses 

Originality  in  the  performer  obliterated  by  Rossini.  346 

CHAPTER  XXXIV 

Concerning  the  various  Qualities  of  the  Human 
Voice  357 

CHAPTER  XXXV 

Madame  Pasta 

Anecdote  which  reveals  the  spiritual  qualities  of  this  re 
markable  artist — letter  written  by  Napoleon,  depicting  the 
true  greatness  of  passionate  love.  361 

CHAPTER  XXXVI 

LA  DONNA  DEL  LAGO 

Rossini's  wild  sense  of  humour.  377 

CHAPTER  XXXVII 

Concerning  eight  minor  Operas  by  Rossini 

Adelaide  di  Borgogna—Armida — Ricciardo  e  Zoraide — 
Ermione — Maometto  secondo — Matilde  di  Shabran — 
Zelmira — Semir  amide.  382 

CHAPTER  XXXVIII 
BIANCA  E  FALIERO  386 

CHAPTER  XXXIX 

ODOARDO  E  CRISTINA 

Project  to  draw  up  a  list  of  all  passages  in  Rossini's  operas 
which  are  genuinely  distinctive  in  character,  and  of  all 
passages  based  upon  an  identical  musical  idea,  indicating 
the  number  (duet,  trio,  etc.)  in  which  this  idea  appears  to 
best  advantage.  388 

CHAPTER  XL 

Concerning  Rossini's  Style  393 


XX11  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  XLI 

Concerning  Rossini's  Attitude  towards  certain 
Composers  among  his  Contemporaries;  and 
concerning  his  personal  Character  397 

CHAPTER  XLII 

Anecdotes  402 

CHRONOLOGICAL    TABLE     OF     THE    WORKS     OF 

GIOACCHINO  ROSSINI,  born  in  Pesaro  on  the 
29th  of  February,  1792  409 

CHAPTER  XLIII 

The  Utopia  of  the  Theatre  Italien  in  Paris 

Approximate  balance-sheet  of  this  institution — budget  of 
the  Italian  Opera  House  in  London — -project  for  con 
verting  the  Opera  Bpuffe  to  a  system  of  lessee-manage 
ment,  under  the  aegis  of  a  watch-committee — some  notes 
on  the  subject  provided  by  an  ex-Administrator — com 
parison  between  the  achievements  of  Italian  and  French 
decor-artists — comparison  between  their  respective  fees — 
details  of  the  working  of  the  Administrative  Committees 
of  the  Opera  Houses  in  Turin,  Florence,  London  and 
Milan— project  for  the  introduction  of  bel  canto  into  the 
curriculum  of  the  Conservatoire— Pellegrini  or  Zuchelli  to 
be  nominated  Professor;  four  wealthy  Peers  of  the  Realm 
to  form  a  board  of  directors — proposal  to  include  two 
performances  per  month  of  Italian  opera  in  the  repertoire 
of  the  Grand  Opfra— project  to  offer  Rossini  a  two-year 
contract  in  Paris— list  of  other  artists  who  should  be 
offered  contracts.  416 

CHAPTER  XLIV 

Of  the  material  Circumstances  which  affect  the 
Life  of  the  Theatre  in  Italy 

Notification  concerning  the  availability  of  a  magnificent 
site  for  an  Opera  House  in  Paris,  to  be  built  on  similar 
lines  to  that  which  already  exists  in  Moscow — concerning 
the  cartetto  theatres  and  their  classification— project  for 
legislation  obliging  the  French  National  Theatres  to  put 
on  new  and  original  plays  at  stated  intervals — decor.  428 


CONTENTS  XX111 

CHAPTER  XLV 

Concerning  the  San-Carlo  Theatre,  and  the 
present  moral  Climate  of  Naples,  the  Home  of 
Music  441 

CHAPTER  XLVI 

Of  the  Peoples  of  Northern  Europe,  considered 
as  Musicians 

Germans — English — Scots.  45 1 

APOLOGY 

An  Apology  for  those  Faults  which  my  Friends 
are  apt  to  call  my  Extravagances,  my  Enthusi 
asms,  my  Contradictions.,  my  non-sequiturs,  my 
...  etc.,  etc.  456 

APPENDIX  I 

Some  Notes  concerning  the  Life  and  Works  of 
Mozart  467 

APPENDIX  II 

List  of  Rossini9 s  Compositions  471 

Bibliography  475 

Notes  478 

Index  and  Table  of  References  49 1 


PREFACE 


N, 


APOLEONIS  dead;  but  a  new  conqueror  has  already  shown  him- 
self  to  the  world;  and  from  Moscow  to  Naples,  from  London  to 
Vienna,  from  Paris  to  Calcutta*,  his  name  is  constantly  on  every 
tongue. 

The  fame  of  this  hero  knows  no  bounds  save  those  of  civilization 
itself;  and  he  is  not  yet  thirty-two !  The  task  which  I  have  set  myself  is 
to  trace  the  paths  and  circumstances  which  have  carried  him  at  so 
early  an  age  to  such  a  throne  of  glory. 

If  the  narrator  of  this  epic  may  claim  to  deserve  his  reader's  confi 
dence,  it  is  because  he  has  lived  for  eight  or  ten  years  in  those  same 
towns  and  cities  which  Rossini  was  electrifying  with  his  master 
pieces;  many  a  time  the  Author  has  journeyed  a  hundred  miles  and 
upwards  to  witness  a  first  performance;  and  in  those  days  it  was  rare 
indeed  for  him  to  miss  even  one  of  the  countless  anecdotes  which  ran 
like  fire  from  mouth  to  mouth  in  Naples,  Venice,  Rome,  or  wherever 
you  might  find  an  opera  by  Rossini. 

The  Author  of  this  present  Work  has  already  composed  two  or 
three  others,  and  all  upon  no  less  frivolous  topics.  The  critics  have 
warned  him  that  when  a  man  takes  to  the  business  of  writing,  there 
are  certain  Precautions  to  be  Observed,  certain  Rules  of  Style  to  be 
Obeyed,  certain  Academic  Disciplines  . . .  etc. ;  that  he  will  never  learn 
to  write  a  book  unless  . . .  etc.,  etc. ;  nor  ever  achieve  the  most  coveted 
distinction  of  being  a  Man  of  Letters.  Excellent!  Certain  persons 
(whom  the  reader  shall  name,  not  I!)  have  committed  such  curious 
sins  beneath  the  cover  of  this  honoured  title,  that  I  can  think  of  at 
least  one  honest  gentleman  who  could  imagine  no  greater  good 
fortune  than  to  avoid  it  altogether. 

This  work,  then,  is  not  a  Book.  After  the  fall  of  Napoleon,  the 
Author  of  the  following  pages,  finding  it  both  stupid  and  unprofit 
able  to  fritter  away  his  youth  in  political  squabbles,  left  home,  and 
set  out  to  see  the  world;  and,  chancing  to  be  in  Italy  during  the  epoch 
of  Rossini's  extraordinary  triumphs,  he  had  occasion  to  describe 
them  in  letters  to  certain  Polish  and  English  acquaintances. 


2  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

Scraps  and  extracts  of  this  correspondence,  later  copied  out  and 
patched  together  into  a  book— this  is  all  that  the  reader  will  find 
before  him  in  these  pages ;  and  if  he  reads  them,  it  must  be  because  he 
enjoys  Rossini,  not  for  any  merit  in  the  writing.  History,  it  is  said, 
constitutes  an  agreeable  exercise,  no  matter  what  circumstances 
may  have  determined  the  writing  of  it;  and  this  history  was  com 
posed  in  the  very  presence  of  the  manifold  and  trifling  events 
which  it  records. 

I  should  not  be  in  the  least  surprised  to  discover  some  thirty  or 
forty  inaccuracies*  among  the  countless  masses  of  minute  detail 
which  go  to  make  up  this  biography. 

There  is  nothing  so  difficult  as  to  write  the  story  of  a  man  still 
living— particularly  when  that  man  is  like  Rossini,  whose  career 
leaves  neither  trace  nor  monument,  but  only  an  ephemeral  memory 
of  passing  pleasure  in  every  heart.  I  could  sincerely  wish  that  this 
great  artist,  who  is  also  a  most  charming  man,  would  follow  the 
example  of  Goldoni  and  write  his  own  Memoir  si  which,  I  suspect, 
would  be  decidedly  more  entertaining  than  those  of  Goldoni,  since 
Rossini  is  at  least  a  hundred  times  wittier,  besides  being  quite  pre 
posterously  irreverent.  I  hope  that  there  may  perhaps  be  just  enough 
inaccuracies  in  this  Life  of  Rossini  to  cause  him  a  passing  spasm  of 
annoyance,  and  so  goad  him  into  writing  the  book  himself.  But 
before  the  storm  of  his  annoyance  breaks  upon  my  head  (if  it  does), 
I  feel  that  I  must  assure  him  of  my  very  real  respect,  which  is  deep 
and  infinitely  sincere,  and  is  of  a  quality  very  different  from  that,  say, 
of  the  respect  I  bear  to  some  fine  Lord  whose  greatness  is  the  envy  of 
all  eyes.  In  the  lottery  of  Nature*,  the  noble  Lord  has  drawn  his 
prize  in  cash;  but  Rossini  has  won  a  name  which  cannot  die,  and 
genius  with  it,  and,  best  of  all,  a  splendid  share  of  human  happiness. 

The  present  treatise  was  originally  destined  to  appear  in  English* ; 
and  only  the  sight  of  a  music-school  just  off  the  Place  Beauvau*  has 
inspired  the  author  with  the  courage  to  publish  it  in  France. 

Montmorency,  30th  September  1823* 


o, 


INTRODUCTION 


Cimarosa 


'  N  the  eleventh  of  January,  1801,  Cimarosa  died  in  Venice,  in 
consequence  of  the  barbarous  treatment*  he  had  suffered  shortly 
before  in  the  dungeons  of  Naples,  where  he  had  been  imprisoned  at 
the  instigation  of  Queen  Caroline. 

Paesiello,  the  charming  and  graceful,  rather  than  forceful  and 
dynamic  composer  of  il  Re  Teodoro  and  la  Scuffiard1,  lived  on  until 
1816;  but  it  is  not  unfair  to  maintain  that,  ever  since  the  closing  years 
of  the  previous  century,  the  bright  blaze  of  musical  inspiration,  which 
so  often  kindles  young  and  burns  out  early,  had  died  and  turned  to 
cold  ashes  within  his  heart. 

The  secret  of  Cimarosa's  power  to  compel  the  imagination  lies  in 
his  use  of  long  musical  phrases,  which  are  at  once  fantastically  rich 
and  extraordinarily  regular.  There  is  an  excellent  illustration  of  this 
manner  to  be  seen  in  the  first  two  duets  of  il  Matrimonio  Segreto,  and 
more  especially  in  the  second: 

lo  ti  lascio  perche  uniti  ...2 

The  human  soul  can  know  no  beauty  more  exquisite  than  these  two 
melodies;  yet  observe  their  characteristic  regularity,  their  symmetry 
so  marked  that  the  mind  cannot  fail  to  perceive  it;  this  is  a  serious 
fault  in  Cimarosa,  for  as  soon  as  the  listener  is  sufficiently  familiar 
with  three  or  four  such  songs,  he  can,  as  it  were,  predict  the  pattern 
and  development  of  all  the  rest  from  hearing  the  first  few  bars.  All 
Cimarosa's  weakness  lies  hidden  in  that  single  word  predict;  and,  as 
we  shall  shortly  see,  Rossini's  style  and  all  his  glory  spring  from  his 
power  to  wrestle  with  this  very  problem. 

1  The  reader  is  referred  to  the  Index  for  information  concerning  the  various 
personalities  and  works  mentioned  in  the  Life  of  Rossini.  (Translator's  note.) 

2  I  leave  you  so  that  you  may  unite  ... 


4  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

Paesiello  never  disturbs  such  deep  currents  of  feeling  as  Cimarosa; 
his  music  has  no  power  to  fill  the  soul  with  that  mystic  imagery  whose 
joyous  radiance  can  touch  the  innermost  springs  of  passion;  the 
spiritual  resources  at  his  command  never  rise  above  a  certain  quality 
of  gracefulness.  Yet,  in  the  field  which  he  has  chosen,  he  excels;  his 
gracefulness  is  the  gracefulness  of  Correggio,  gentle,  rarely  provoca 
tive,  but  with  its  own  peculiar,  irresistible  attraction.  Among  examples 
of  Paesiello's  music  which  are  familiar  in  Paris,  perhaps  the  most 
typical  is  the  famous  quartet  from  la  Molinara: 

Quellila  ...,* 

from  the  scene  where  Pistofolo,  the  notary,  in  a  most  delightful 
sequence,  undertakes  to  intercede  with  the  Miller's  wife  on  behalf  of 
his  two  hated  rivals,  the  Governor  and  his  own  Liege  Lord,  convey 
ing  their  respective  and  impassioned  declarations. 

The  most  remarkable  characteristic  of  Paesiello's  style  is  his  trick 
of  repeating  the  same  phrase  or  passage  over  and  over  again,  yet 
adorned  at  each  return  with  new  and  added  graces  which  engrave  it 
ever  more  deeply  on  the  listener's  imagination. 

No  musical  style  in  the  world  bears  less  resemblance  to  that  of 
Cimarosa,  with  its  glittering  array  of  comic  verve,  of  passion, 
strength  and  gaiety.  Rossini  likewise  tends  towards  repetition,  but  not 
with  purposeful  intent;  and  a  mannerism  which,  in  Paesiello,  is  a 
careful  climax  of  exquisite  writing,  is,  in  Rossini,  incarnate  idleness 
in  all  its  glory!  Let  me  hasten  to  add,  lest  I  be  straightway  counted 
among  his  detractors  and  critics,  that  Rossini  alone  among  all 
modern  composers  has  earned  the  right  to  be  compared  with  these 
great  masters,  whose  stars  faded  from  the  heavens  in  the  early  years 
of  the  XlXth  century.  If  only  we  took  the  trouble  to  study  their 
scores  with  the  care  and  attention  that  they  deserve,  we  should 
suddenly  be  startled  one  fine  day  to  find  ourselves  perceiving  and 
feeling  qualities  in  their  music,  whose  existence  we  had  never  even 
suspected!  In  all  art,  the  road  to  appreciation  lies  through  reflection. 

1  Those  men  there  ... 


II 

Of  Certain  Differences  between  German 
and  Italian  Music 

JN  o  music  will  remain  deeply  imprinted  in  the  memory  unless  it  is 
of  the  kind  that  lends  itself  to  private  rehearsal;  and  no  man,  alone 
in  his  chamber  late  at  night  and  equipped  with  nothing  but  his  own 
voice,  can  rehearse  orchestral  harmony. 

Fundamentally,  this  is  the  real  difference  between  German  and 
Italian  music.  Take  any  young  Italian,  whose  whole  being  is  pre 
occupied  with  some  imperious  passion:  he  may,  while  it  is  still  at 
fever-heat,  reflect  upon  it  for  a  time  in  silence;  but  sooner  or  later  he 
will  start  to  sing,  softly,  perhaps  some  tune  by  Rossini;  and  quite 
unconsciously  he  will  have  selected,  among  all  the  tunes  he  knows, 
the  one  which  seems  most  aptly  to  echo  his  own  mood.  Then,  a  little 
later,  instead  of  singing  softly  to  himself,  he  will  begin  to  sing  out 
loud;  and,  still  all  unsuspecting,  his  singing  will  begin  to  answer,  in 
subtle  shapes  and  shadings,  the  peculiar  quality  of  the  passion  which 
is  raging  in  his  heart.  His  soul,  as  it  were,  has  found  an  echo,  and  the 
echo  is  itself  a  consolation;  his  singing  is  like  a  mirror  in  which  he  can 
observe  his  own  reflection;  previously,  he  had  been  exasperated  by 
the  unkindness  of  fate,  and  his  spirit  was  filled  with  anger;  but  now 
he  can  see  himself,  and  his  final  mood  will  be  one  of  pity  for  his  own 
misfortune. 

Our  young  Italian,  then,  sings  to  escape  from  his  own  obsessing 
thoughts;  but  after  a  while,  he  may  suddenly  grow  aware  of  the 
strange,  new  individuality  with  which  the  song  of  his  choosing  has 
been  coloured  by  the  quality  of  his  singing;  it  may  fascinate  him, 
enchanting  his  soul;  then,  once  this  odd,  ecstatic  mood  has  been 
created,  it  is  only  a  step  to  the  making  of  a  new  song  altogether;  and 
since  the  climate  and  the  way  of  life  of  southern  Italy  have  endowed 
the  inhabitants  with  excellent  voices,  as  often  as  not  he  will  find  him 
self  well  able  to  compose  without  a  piano.1  I  have  met  with  a  score 

1  This  is  the  origin  of  those  wonderful,  but  generally  plaintive,  folk-songs 


6  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

of  young  Neapolitans  who  could  compose  a  song  as  unconcernedly 
as  young  men  in  London  write  letters,  or  young  men  in  Paris  pen  sets 
of  verses.  There  is  nothing  unusual,  under  the  soft,  delicious  night- 
sky  of  Naples,  in  their  going  home  after  the  day's  work,  sitting  down 
at  the  piano,  and  whiling  away  half  the  hours  of  darkness  with  songs 
and  improvisations.*  No  thought  is  further  from  their  minds  than 
that  of  "writing  music"  or  of  "becoming  a  famous  composer";  the 
only  motive  of  their  art,  the  only  secret  of  their  happiness,  is  to  have 
discovered  a  way  of  expressing  the  living  emotions  within  them.  In 
England,  a  young  man  in  similar  circumstances  would  probably  have 
stretched  his  hand  toward  the  bookshelf,  taken  down  a  volume  of 
some  favourite  author,  and  read  until  one  or  two  o'clock  in  the 
morning;  but  his  enjoyment  would  have  been  less  creative  than  that 
of  the  Italian,  his  imagination  would  have  been  less  actively  engaged, 
and  consequently  his  pleasure  less  real.  Improvisation  at  the  piano  is 
an  exclusive  occupation;  the  single  problem  of  expression  leaves  no 
room  for  any  other  anxieties,  and  mere  technical  accuracy  perforce 
goes  by  the  board. 

To  become  a  competent  violinist,  a  man  must  practise  scales  three 
hours  a  day  for  eight  years;  at  the  end  of  which  time,  callosities  as 
tough  as  leather  will  have  spread  across  the  fingertips  of  his  left  hand, 
leaving  it  grotesquely  (Reformed;  but  the  notes  extracted  from  the 
instrument  will  be  perfect.  Even  the  most  skilled  of  violinists  still 
requires  his  two-hours'  daily  practice ;  and  if  he  should  chance  to  miss 
it  for  three  or  four  days,  he  will  find  that  the  purity  of  his  tone  is 
already  degenerating,  and  that  his  touch  is  losing  its  sureness  in  the 
more  brilliant  passages.  The  degree  of  patience  and  perseverance 
required  to  perfect  this  kind  of  skill  is  very  unusual  in  the  southern 
parts  of  Europe,  and  is  rarely  found  in  conjunction  with  an 
impetuous  temperament*.  The  violinist  or  the  flautist  is  perpetu 
ally  conscious  of  the  beauty  or  the  accuracy  of  his  tone,  and 
scarcely  ever  of  the  emotional  expressiveness  of  his  music.  Observe 
this  distinction,  for  it  provides  a  further  key  to  the  riddle,  and  ex- 

which,  for  countless  generations,  have  been  handed  down  from  singer  to  singer 
within  the  Kingdom  of  Naples,  Those  who  know  this  lovely  country  will  recog 
nize,  for  example,  the  national  anthem,  la  Cavajola;  or  tt  Pestagatlo,  which  is 
peculiar  to  the  Abruzzi.  A  folk-singer  from  Aquila,  who  was  teaching  me  some  of 
these  songs,  once  remarked:  La  musica  &  il  lamento  deW  amore,  o  lapreghiera  a 
gli  Dei  (Music  is  the  lamentation  of  Love,  or  a  prayer  to  the  gods).  Diary 
12th  May,  1819. 


GERMAN  AND  ITALIAN  MUSIC  7 

plains  some  of  the  subtle  differences  between  the  two  schools  of  music. 

During  the  last  century,  there  were  harsh  Italian  fathers  who  would 
condemn  an  ill-fated  son  to  make  himself  proficient  on  the  violin  or 
oboe,  just  as  others  used  to  sentence  their  children  to  become 
castrati;  but  in  our  own  time,  the  art  of  instrumental  music  has 
wholly  taken  refuge  among  the  peaceful,  patient  folk  beyond  the 
Rhine.  Amid  the  sighing  forests  of  Germany,  this  people,  its  spirit 
ever  filled  with  dreams,  needs  no  more  than  the  beauty  of  pure  sound, 
even  without  melody,  to  urge  it  on  to  ever  greater  feats  of  persever 
ance,  and  to  populate  its  vagabond  imagination  with  rich  and 
wondrous  visions. 

There  was  an  occasion,  twenty  years  ago,  when  Don  Giovanni  was 
to  be  produced  in  Rome;  and  for  a  solid  fortnight,  the  instrument 
alists  struggled  like  demons  to  master  the  complexities  of  the  passage 
where  three  orchestras  have  to  play  simultaneously  during  Don 
Giovanni's  supper-scene  in  the  last  act.  But  in  vain;  to  the  very  end, 
the  best  musicians  in  Rome  found  such  a  score  beyond  the  range  of 
their  technique.  Their  very  soul  was  in  their  playing,  but  patience  was 
not  their,  brightest  virtue.  But  in  contrast,  less  than  two  weeks  ago, 
I  went  to  the  rue  Lepeletier,  and  watched  the  orchestra  of  the  Opera 
give  a  superb  performance  of  a  positively  diabolic  symphony 
by  Cherubini  at  sight',  and  then  fail  miserably  in  trying  to  accom 
pany  the  duet  from  Armida,  sung  by  Bordogni  and  Madame 
Pasta.  The  Opera  is  populated  with  superlative  talent,  trained  and 
cherished  with  boundless  patience — and  without  an  iota  of  genu 
ine  musicality. 

In  Rome,  twenty  years  ago,  it  grew  to  be  a  unanimous  opinion  that 
foreigners  thought  far  too  highly  of  Mozart's  works,  and  that  the 
passage  for  three  orchestras,  in  particular,  was  a  piece  of  rank 
absurdity  only  worthy  of  the  barbarous  Teuton. 

The  probing  and  meticulous  despotism1  which,  for  two  centuries 

1  In  1795,  an  intelligent  and  at  that  time  very  young  man,  Signer  Toni,  who 
has  since  become  extremely  well  known  as  a  printer  and  publisher,  held  a  post 
under  the  Venetian  government  at  Verona;  it  was  a  modest  employment,  carrying 
a  salary  of  1,800  francs,  and  he  was  happy  and  contented,  spending  his  leisure 
courting  the  favours  of  Princess  p***.  Suddenly  he  found  himself  dismissed  from 
his  office  and  threatened  with  imprisonment.  Hastily  he  set  off  for  Venice,  where, 
after  three  months  of  manoeuvring  and  intrigue,  he  eventually  managed  to  slip 
a  passing  word  to  a  member  of  the  Council  of  Ten,  who  replied:  "Why  the  devil 
did  you  have  to  tell  your  tailor  to  make  you  a  blue  suit?  We  took  you  for  a 
Jacobin!"  Incidents  of  a  similar  character  are  not  unknown  in  Milan  in  1822;  in 


8  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

now,  has  wrapped  its  strangling  tentacles  about  the  genius  of  Italy, 
has  forced  the  only  criticism  which  the  censorship  will  permit  to  take 
refuge  in  low-grade  journalism  of  the  most  unspeakable  scurrility 
and  baseness*;  it  is  quite  normal  to  find  a  man  referred  to  as  a 
scoundrel,  an  ass,  a  thief,  etc.,  almost  as  one  has  grown  used  to  it  in 
London,1  and  soon  will  do  in  Paris,  for  all  the  good  we  are  likely  to 
derive  from  our  own  "freedom  of  the  press"  and  other  injunctions  to 
despise  coarseness  and  vulgarity,  even  in  print.  In  Italy,  the  journalist 
himself  is,  by  tradition,  one  of  the  leading  agents  in  the  service  of  the 
Police,  who  use  him  to  hurl  dirt  at  anyone  who  achieves  distinction 
in  any  walk  of  life  whatsoever,  and  hence  to  spread  terror  and  sub 
servience.  But  it  is  as  -true  of  Italy  as  it  is  of  Prance,  or  of  any  other 
country  for  that  matter,  that  public  opinion  in  the  field  of  drama 
requires  the  guidance  of  criticism  in  the  press;  the  reaction  of  an 
audience  is  as  evanescent  as  a  thought  unless  there  is  someone  on  the 
spot  to  record  it;  and,  if  the  first  link  in  the  chain  of  argument  is 
missed,  no  one  will  ever  manage  to  deduce  the  second. 

I  must  beg  the  reader's  pardon  for  having  introduced  so  odious  a 
topic;  but  I  should  be  immeasurably  distressed  if  this  fair  realm  of 
Italy,  this  wondrous  land  whose  earth  has  scarcely  settled  over  the 
ashes  of  men  as  great  as  Canova  and  Vigano,  should  be  judged  by 
the  raffish  vituperations  of  its  periodical  press,  or  on  the  evidence  of 
such  barren  and  empty-headed  balderdash  as  may  be  found  in  the 
few  books  which  a  fear-haunted  populace  still  finds  the  courage  to 
print.  Until  the  day  comes  when  the  whole  of  Italy  enjoys  the  bless 
ings  of  a  moderate  government,  such  as  that  which  has  flourished  in 
Tuscany  for  the  last  eighteen  months,  I  would  implore,  desperately, 
but,  I  think,  only  in  fairness,  that  the  spirit  of  Italy  should  be  judged 
only  insofar  as  that  spirit  transpires  through  the  medium  of  art. 
Nowadays,  no  one  but  a  fool  or  an  accredited  informer  may  have  a 
book  published. 

A  few  years  ago,  in  1816,  I  chanced  to  be  staying  in  one  of  the 
greatest  cities  in  Lombardy.  A  group  of  local  music-lovers—men  of 

Lombardy,  a  fondness  for  Dante  (who  was  writing  in  the  year  1300!)  is  accounted 
good  evidence  of  carbonarism;  and  any  man  who  evinces  too  inordinate  a  delight 
in  this  writer  will  find  that,  gradually,  his  liberal  friends  will  seem  less  inclined 
to  seek  his  company. 

1  See,  for  instance,  the  foul-mouthed  insults  recently  hurled  by  one  PMlpott 
against  the  celebrated  Mr  Jeffrey,  the  editor  of  the  Edinburgh  Review,  which  is 
the  finest  periodical  in  existence, 


GERMAN  AND  ITALIAN  MUSIC  9 

means  and  substance — had  founded  a  private  theatre  in  the  town, 
equipped  and  decorated  with  every  imaginable  luxury;  and  they 
thought  that  it  would  be  fitting  to  organize  a  festival  to  celebrate  the 
advent  among  them  of  Princess  Beatrice  d'Este*,  the  mother-in-law 
of  the  Emperor  Francis.  In  her  honour,  therefore,  they  commis 
sioned  an  entirely  new  opera,  with  original  music  and  a  specially- 
written  libretto — a  compliment  which,  in  Italy,  represents  the  highest 
honour  which  can  be  paid  to  anyone.  The  librettist  had  the  notion  of 
arranging  one  of  Goldoni's  plays,  Torquato  Tasso,  in  operatic  form. 
The  music  was  ready  within  a  week,  rehearsals  were  under  way,  and 
everything  was  going  with  a  swing,  when,  on  the  very  eve  of  the  great 
occasion,  the  Princess'  chamberlain  appeared,  and  intimated  firmly 
to  the  distinguished  citizens  who  were  desirous  of  the  honour  of 
performing  in  her  presence,  that  to  recall  before  a  scion  of  the  house 
of  Este  the  abhorred  name  of  Tasso,  a  man  who  had  once  upon  a 
time  actually  insulted  this  illustrious  race,  would  be  a  most  criminal 
discourtesy. 

But  no  one  seemed  in  the  least  surprised  at  this  arbitrary  inter 
vention,  and  the  title  was  simply  changed  to  Lope  de  Vega. 

It  is  my  considered  opinion  that  music  can  only  appeal  to  the 
spirit  of  man  by  conjuring  up  a  pattern  of  imaginative  imagery, 
which  in  some  way  corresponds  to  the  passions  by  which  the  listener 
is  already  swayed.  It  will  therefore  be  evident  that  music,  indirectly 
perhaps,  but  none  the  less  inevitably,  will  reflect  the  political  struc 
ture  of  its  country  of  origin,  since  the  individual  listener  is  himself 
determined  by  the  political  atmosphere  in  which  he  exists.  In  Italy, 
the  tradition  of  tyranny  which  reigns  supreme  in  the  body  politic  has 
effectively  annihilated  every  generous  impulse  in  the  human  breast 
save  one:  love.  Consequently,  we  find  no  sign  of  martial  vigour  in 
Italian  music  until  the  appearance  ofTancredi*,  whose  first  perform 
ance  does  not  take  place  until  a  good  ten  years  have  elapsed  since  the 
miraculous  feats  at  Rivoli  and  at  the  bridge  of  Arcola*.  Before  the 
echo  of  those  tremendous  days  came  to  shatter  the  age-old  sleep  of 
Italy,1  war  and  feats  of  arms  had  no  part  to  play  in  music,  save  as  a 

1  Cf.  Napoleon,  Correspondence  for  the  year  1796,  description  of  the  general 
state  of  morale  in  Milan  and  Brescia.  The  Milanese  "army'*  consisted  solely  of 
some  eighty  villainous  scallywags  dressed  up  in  scarlet  and  entrusted  with  the 
policing  of  the  town.  Cf.  also,  in  the  Bulletins  de  VArmte  d'Espagne,  what  Napol 
eon  achieved  with  such  a  people! 

LR  » 


10  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

conventional  background  to  give  still  greater  value  to  the  sacrifices 
made  to  love;  for  indeed,  how  should  a  people,  to  whom  all  dreams 
of  glory  were  forbidden,  and  whose  only  experience  of  arms  was  as 
an  instrument  of  violence  and  oppression,  have  found  any  sense  of 
pleasure  in  letting  their  imagination  dwell  on  martial  images? 

In  contrast,  think  of  the  tunes  Allons,  enfants  de  la  Patrie  or  le 
Chant  du  Depart,  and  observe  the  arduous  heights  scaled  by  French 
music,  almost,  as  it  were,  from  the  first  moment  of  its  inception;  yet 
during  the  last  thirty  years  (or,  in  fact,  ever  since  our  composers 
started  copying  the  Italians)  nothing  half  so  fine  has  been  produced. 
The  reason  is  plain;  for,  during  all  this  time,  composers  have  chosen 
blindly  to  imitate  the  Italian  conception  of  love,  whereas  love,  in 
France,  is  nothing  but  a  feeble  and  second-rate  emotion,  entirely 
overwhelmed  by  vanity  and  stifled  by  the  witty  subtleties  of  intellect. 

Now,  whether  or  not  there  be  any  truth  in  this  impertinent  general 
ization,  I  think  it  will  be  universally  acknowledged  that  music  can 
achieve  no  effect  at  all  save  by  appealing  to  the  imagination.  But  if 
there  is  one  faculty  which  can  be  guaranteed  to  reduce  the  imagina 
tion  to  a  state  of  impotent  paralysis,  it  is  memory*.  If,  upon  hearing 
some  tantalising  melody,  my  first  reaction  is  to  recall  the  tracery  of 
images  and  all  the  little  dream-adventures  which  I  had  woven  about 
it  on  the  last  occasion  when  it  had  caught  my  fancy,  then  everything 
is  lost,  a  black  and  deathly  frost  grips  my  imagination,  and  the  all- 
powerful  enchantment  of  the  music  is  banished  from  my  heart;  or  at 
best,  allowing  that  I  may  be  able  to  recapture  some  half-hesitating 
glimpse  of  the  old  magic,  it  can  carry  me  no  further  than  to  some 
secondary  consideration,  perhaps  inspiring  a  fleeting  admiration  for 
the  technical  virtuosity  of  the  performer  in  the  execution  of  some 
difficult  passage,  or  distracting  my  attention  with  similar  trivialities 
of  subordinate  importance. 

A  friend  of  mine  once  wrote,  about  a  year  ago,  in  a  letter  addressed 
to  a  lady  who  was  then  living  in  the  country:  Soon  we  shall  be  able  to 
see  Tancred  at  the  Theatre  Louvois,  but  I  doubt  whether  we  shall 
really  be  able  to  appreciate  all  the  subtle  enchantment  of  this  fresh  and 
extraordinarily  martial  music  until  we  have  heard  it  performed  three 
or  four  times.  However,  once  we  have  fully  grasped  all  its  beauty  and 
meaning,  the  power  of  its  fascination  will  grow  steadily,  reaching  a 
climax  of  intensity  over  a  period  of  some  twenty  to  thirty  performances, 


GERMAN  AND  ITALIAN  MUSIC  11 

after  which  our  capacity  for  enjoyment  will  rapidly  become  exhausted. 
The  more  violent  our  initial  infatuation,  the  more  frequently  we  shall 
have  heard  these  wonderful  melodies  surging  round  and  round  inside 
our  head  long  after  the  performance  is  over  and  the  theatre  shut  and 
empty,  then  the  more  complete,  ultimately,  will  be  our  saturation,  if  I 
may  use  the  phrase.  Musically  speaking,  no  one  can  remain  for  ever 
faithful  to  his  old  loves.  If  Tancredi  is  still  received  with  rapturous 
applause  after  fifty  performances,  it  can  only  be  because  the  audience 
has  been  completely  renewed;  because  a  new  class  of  society, 
attracted  by  the  press,  will  have  found  its  way  through  the  doors  of 
the  Louvois;  or  (more  prosaic  reason)  because  this  particular  theatre 
is  so  abominably  uncomfortable  that  the  delights  of  listening  are  only 
purchased  at  an  exorbitant  price  of  physical  suffering  in  every  other 
part  of  the  listener's  anatomy,  this  same  bodily  suffering  causing  a 
state  of  nervous  exhaustion,  induced  so  rapidly  that  the  maximum 
quantity  of  opera  which  anyone  is  capable  of  assimilating  on  any  one 
evening  is  reduced  to  one  act;  in  which  case,  the  "saturation-point" 
for  Tancredi  will  be  reached  only  after  eighty  performances,  instead 
of  the  customary  forty! 

It  is  a  sad,  but  probably  true,  reflection,  that,  in  music  at  least,  the 
ideal  conception  of  beauty  changes  every  thirty  years.  Consequently, 
anyone  who  would  attempt  to  describe  the  revolution  in  musical 
taste  brought  about  by  Rossini  has  no  need  to  explore  the  past  much 
beyond  the  epoch  of  Cimarosa  and  Paesiello.1 

Towards  the  year  1800,  when  these  great  men  retired  from  their 
labours,  they  had  been  feeding  the  repertoire  of  every  theatre  in  Italy, 
and  indeed  throughout  the  world,  for  over  twenty  years.  Conse 
quently,  their  style,  their  whole  technique  and  vision,  had  lost  its 
most  precious  quality:  the  quality  of  unexpectedness.  When  I  was  in 
Padua,  Pacchiarotti,  then  a  wonderfully  genial  old  man,  used  to  take 
me  round  his  fashionable  jar  din  anglais,  and  show  me  the  tower  of 
cardinal  Bembo  with  its  magnificent  furnishings  all  brought  from 

1  There  is  no  need  to  remind  the  reader  that  Dr  Burney  has  published  a  most 
excellent  General  History  of  Music.  Personally,  however,  I  regret  to  confess  that 
the  perfection  of  this  magnificent  work  is  marred  by  occasional  traces  of  obscur 
ity.  It  may  be  that  the  origin  of  this  veil  of  opaqueness,  which  sometimes  falls 
between  the  eye  of  the  reader  and  the  conceptions  of  the  author,  lies  in  the  latter's 
failure  to  make  any  clear  statement  about  his  own  musical  credo.  I  rather  think 
that  he  might  have  done  better  to  give  us  examples  of  what  he  understood  by  the 
terms  beautiful,  sublime,  mediocre,  etc. 


12  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

London  in  so  curious  a  manner;  and,  during  the  course  of  these 
visits,  he  used  to  tell  me  how,  in  Milan  in  the  old  days,  his  rendering 
of  a  certain  aria  by  Cimarosa  would  receive  as  many  as  four  consecu 
tive  encores,  night  after  night;  I  freely  confess  that,  before  I  could 
credit  a  whole  people  with  such  an  infatuated  degree  of  intoxicated 
extravagance,  I  needed  further  confirmation;  but  the  evidence  was 
there,  from  a  crowd  of  people  who  had  witnessed  the  phenomenon 
with  their  own  eyes.  When  the  human  heart  adores  with  such  intens 
ity,  how  should  its  adoration  last  for  ever? 

If  we  should  happen  to  find  ourselves  still  taking  pleasure  in  a  song 
which  we  first  heard  years  ago,  it  can  only  be  because  the  quality  of 
that  pleasure  has  been  completely  transformed;  our  present  delight 
lies  in  reminiscence,  in  recalling  the  charming  fancies  which  had 
enraptured  our  imagination  of  old;  but  the  original  intoxication 
itself  has  vanished  for  ever,  and  cannot  be  recaptured*.  Thus  a  single 
spray  of  periwinkle-flowers  could  remind  Jean- Jacques  Rousseau  of 
all  the  glories  of  his  younger  days*. 

The  quality  in  music,  which  makes  of  it  the  most  enthralling  plea 
sure  that  the  soul  can  know,  and  which  gives  it  so  marked  an  advan 
tage  over  even  the  finest  poetry,  over  Jerusalem,  for  instance,  or  over 
Lalla-Rookh,  lies  in  the  powerful  element  of  physical  intoxication 
which  it  contains.  The  pleasure  of  pure  mathematics  is  of  an  even 
quality,  neither  increasing  nor  decreasing  violently  with  time  or 
mood;  but  the  pleasure  of  music  is  as  opposite  to  this  as  anything 
within  the  range  and  compass  of  our  appreciation.  The  joy  which 
music  affords  is  violent  and  intense,  but  curiously  unstable  and 
quickly  evanescent.  Ethics,  history,  novels,  poetry— arts  which, 
within  the  scale  of  our  different  pleasures,  are  set  at  varied  intervals 
between  the  two  extremes  of  pure  mathematics  and  opera  buff  a— all 
furnish  a  degree  of  satisfaction  whose  durability  is  in  exact  inverse 
proportion  to  its  intensity;  and  only  delights  which,  in  intensity,  are 
comparatively  weak,  can  offer  us  positive  assurance  that  they  will 
always  remain  undiminished  no  matter  how  often  we  return  to  them. 
In  music,  by  contrast,  every  element  partakes  of  the  frenzied  un 
certainty  of  an  unbridled  imagination;  an  opera  may  inspire  the 
most  disproportionate  havoc  of  enjoyment  one  night,  and  three 
nights  later,  occasion  nothing  more  than  an  infinite  weariness  of 
boredom  or  an  infuriating  irritation  of  the  nerves.  The  causes  of  this 


GERMAN  AND  ITALIAN  MUSIC  13 

revolution  may  be  insignificant — a  shrill-toned,  yapping  female  voice 
in  a  near-by  box;  or  over-heating  in  the  auditorium;  or  a  neighbour 
leaning  back  luxuriously  in  his  own  seat  and  communicating  a  series 
of  steady,  maddeningly  regular  jerks  to  your  own;  indeed,  the  enjoy 
ment  of  music  is  in  so  large  a  measure  purely  physical,  that,  as  the 
reader  will  have  observed,  it  may  depend  upon  the  presence  or 
absence  of  phenomena  which,  in  description,  seem  unbelievably 
trivial. 

As  often  as  not,  an  evening  which  promises  the  exquisite  delights  of 
Madame  Pasta,  and  the  added  luxury  of  a  comfortable  box,  may  be 
completely  ruined  by  the  hateful  intrusion  of  just  some  such  ignoble 
triviality.  One  might  ransack  one's  brain  for  hours  on  end,  exploring 
the  most  delicate  intricacies  of  metaphysics,  or  the  subtlest  niceties  of 
literary  criticism,  to  explain  why  Elisabetta  seemed  suddenly  so  un 
palatable,  whereas  the  real  reason  is  simply  that  the  auditorium  was 
too  hot  and  that,  as  a  result,  one  was  feeling  thoroughly  uncomfort 
able.  Incidentally,  the  Theatre  Louvois  is  unrivalled  in  providing 
draw-backs1  of  this  character,  and  generally  in  obstructing  the 
enjoyment  of  music;  and  whenever  such  an  obstruction  arises,  one 
stops  listening  naturally  and  starts  listening  academically;  one  feels 
it  one's  duty  not  to  miss  a  single  note.  O,  what  a  phrase:  to  feel  it 
one's  duty  I  How  unspeakably  Englishl  How  anti-musical!  It  is  as 
though  one  were  to  feel  it  one's  duty  to  be  thirsty! 

Music  exerts  a  certain  pressure  up(on  the  nervous  system  of  the  ear, 
creating  a  given  degree  of  tension,  and  thus  producing  a  physical, 
purely  mechanical  type  of  sensory  pleasure  (as,  for  example,  during 
the  first-act  finale  of  Mozart's  Cost  fan  Tutte)\  and  apparently  this 
physical  pleasure  communicates  a  certain  degree  of  tension  or  irri 
tation  to  the  brain,  forcing  it  to  produce  a  series  of  pleasurable 
mental  images,  or  else  to  react,  with  drunken  intensity  twenty  times 
more  violent  than  usual,  to  mental  images  which,  in  normal  circum 
stances,  would  have  inspired  nothing  deeper  than  the  most  vulgar 
sensual  satisfaction— just  as  a  handful  of  nightshade  berries,  picked 
accidentally  in  the  garden,  can  turn  the  brain  to  madness. 

Cotugno,  the  most  celebrated  doctor  in  Naples,  once  remarked  to 
me  during  the  furore  which  first  greeted  Mos$  in  Egitto:  Among  the 
many  and  glorious  titles  which  may  be  showered  upon  your  hero,  you 
1  In  English  in  the  original.  (Trans.) 


14  LIFE  OF  RpSSINI 

should  include  that  of  murderer.  I  could  quote  you  more  than  forty 
cases  of  brain-fever  or  of  violent  nervous  convulsions  among  young 
ladies  with  an  over-ardent  passion  for  music,  brought  on  exclusively  by 
the  Jews'  Prayer  in  the  third  act,  with  its  extraordinary  change  of  key  I 

It  was  this  same  philosopher  (for  assuredly  so  great  a  physician  as 
Cotugno  deserves  such  a  title)  who  observed  that  semi-darkness  was 
an  essential  condition  of  true  musical  appreciation.  A  too-bright 
light,  he  maintained,  irritated  the  optic  nerve;  and  it  was  impossible 
that  conscious  awareness  should  be  fully  present  in  the  optic  and 
auditory  nerves  at  the  same  time.  You  may  choose  one  pleasure,  or  the 
other;  but  the  human  brain  is  not  sufficiently  powerful  to  cope  with 
both.  I  might  suggest  another  curious  phenomenon,  added  Cotugno, 
who  was  probably  influenced  by  the  theory  of  galvanism*:  to 
achieve  the  completest  sensory  satisfaction  from  music,  it  is  essential 
to  be  isolated  from  the  proximity  of  any  other  human  body.  It  may  be 
surmised  that  the  human  ear  is  surrounded  by  a  kind  of  musical  ether, 
of  which  I  can  offer  no  description,  beyond  suggesting  that  it  may  exist. 
Thus,  to  obtain  perfect  pleasure,  it  is  essential  to  be  situated  in  a  kind 
of  isolated  field,  as  we  observe  in  certain  experiments  involving 
electrical  magnetism,  which  in  practice  means  that  it  is  necessary  that 
the  space  of  at  least  one  foot  should  intervene  between  oneself  and  the 
nearest  adjacent  human  body.  The  animal  heat  which  emanates  from  a 
foreign  body  appears  to  me  to  have  a  most  pernicious  effect  upon  the 
enjoyment  of  music. 

Far  be  it  from  me  to  insist  upon  the  scientific  validity  of  this  theory 
tentatively  put  forward  by  the  Neapolitan  philosopher;  I  suspect  that 
I  may  not  be  sufficiently  competent  a  scientist  even  to  have  stated  it 
correctly!  , 

The  most  that  I  can  assert  with  confidence  is  that  I  know,  from  the 
experience  of  a  number  of  intimate  friends,  that  a  series  of  fine 
Neapolitan  melodies,  for  instance,  will  oblige  the  listener's  imagina 
tion  to  furnish  a  series  of  specific  mental  pictures;  and  at  the  same 
time  will  make  him  abnormally  sensitive  in  appreciating  the  peculiar 
beauty  of  these  same  images. 

In  early  days,  when  the  pleasures  of  music  are  a  new  discovery,  the 
listener's  most  immediate  reaction  will  be  one  of  astonishment  at  the 
curious  things  which  seem  to  be  taking  place  within  Mm;  and  he  will 
be  entirely  preoccupied  with  savouring  the  unsuspected  sources  of 


GERMAN  AND  ITALIAN  MUSIC  15 

delight  which  he  has  just  stumbled  upon  for  the  first  time;  but  later, 
when  he  has  had  many  years'  experience  in  the  service  of  this 
enchanting  art,  he  will  find  that  music  which  is  perfect  will  provide 
the  mind  with  a  series  of  mental  pictures  wholly  related  to  the  par 
ticular  emotions  with  which  he  happens  to  be  already  preoccupied*. 
It  will  now  have  been  made  abundantly  plain  that  the  entire  pleasure 
of  music  consists  in  creating  illusions;  and  that  common-sense  ration 
ality  is  the  greatest  enemy  of  musical  appreciation. 

The  only  reality  in  music  is  the  state  of  mind  which  it  induces  in 
the  listener* ;  and  I  will  not  quarrel  with  the  moralists,  when  they 
claim  that  this  state  offers  a  powerful  inducement  to  day-dreaming 
and  sentimental  effusions. 


Ill 

History  of  the  Interregnum  between  the  Departure  of 
Cimarosa  and  the  Coming  of  Rossini 
(1800-1812) 

AFTER  the  departure  of  Cimarosa,  and  during  the  period  when 
Paesiello  had  retired  from  active  composition,  music  in  Italy  lay 
dormant,  waiting  for  the  appearance  of  an  original  genius.  Perhaps 
I  should  rather  have  said,  that  the  pleasure  of  music  lay  dormant,  for 
the  theatres  could  always  show  their  tally  of  enthusiastic  applause 
and  extravagant  admiration;  but,  after  all,  a  pretty  young  miss 
of  eighteen  will  weep  tears  of  emotion,  even  over  the  novels  of 
M.  Ducray-Duminil;  and  you  may  usually  observe  a  few  crowds 
cheering,  a  few  handkerchiefs  waving,  at  the  entry  of  the  very 
puniest  of  princes. 

Certain  of  Rossini's  compositions  date  from  before  1812;  but  this 
was  the  year  in  which  he  first  received  the  signal  honour  of  composing 
for  la  Scala,  the  great  theatre  of  Milan. 

In  order  to  appreciate  the  full  extent  of  Rossini's  glittering  genius, 
it  is  absolutely  essential  to  have  some  idea  of  the  state  of  music  as  it 
was  when  he  found  it,  and  to  cast  a  glance  at  some  of  the  composers 
who  enjoyed  a  certain  range  of  popularity  between  1800  and  1812. 

Let  me  observe  in  passing,  that  if  music  is  a  living  art  in  Italy,  this 
is  only  because  every  one  of  the  larger  theatres  is  constitutionally 
obliged  to  put  on  a  new  opera  at  certain  fixed  dates  in  every  year; 
without  this  legal  clause,  the  local  brand  of  pedant,  under  the  pretext 
of  cultivating  appreciation  of  the  classics,  would  without  doubt  or 
question  have  strangled  or  outlawed  every  up-and-coming  genius  at 
birth;  and  none  but  the  dullest  of  plagiarists  would  have  received  his 
honorable  permission  to  survive. 

If  Italy  is  the  Land  of  the  Beautiful  in  every  branch  of  art,  this  is 
only  because  the  public  steadily  refuses  to  be  satisfied  unless  the 
ideal  of  beauty  is  constantly  renewed;  and  further  because,  in  a 
country  where  everyone  relies  on  his  own  sensibility  and  judgment, 


THE  INTERREGNUM  17 

the  pedants  are  treated  with  every  atom  of  the  scorn  that  they 
deserve! 

Between  Cimarosa  and  Rossini,  there  are  two  names  which  claim 
some  attention:  Mayer1  and  Paer. 

Mayer,  a  German  who  came  to  Italy  to  complete  his  musical 
education,  and  who  settled  in  Bergamo  some  forty  years  ago,  pro 
duced  about  half  a  hundred  operas  between  1795  and  1820.  He  owed 
his  popularity  to  one  tiny  streak  of  originality  which  fascinated  the 
ear  with  its  unexpected  novelty.  His  peculiar  gift  lay  in  scoring  his 
orchestral  passages,  together  with  the  ritornelli  and  accompaniments 
of  his  arias,  with  all  the  new  richness  of  harmonic  effect  which  his 
contemporaries  Haydn  and  Mozart  were  perfecting  in  Germany  at 
that  very  time.  He  had  scarcely  a  notion  how  to  extract  melody  from 
the  human  voice,  but  he  was  very  skilled  in  extracting  music  from  his 
instruments. 

His  Lodo'iska,  which  was  first  performed  in  the  year  1800,  was 
wildly  acclaimed  on  every  side.  I  saw  it  myself  at  Schonbrunn  in 
1809,  admirably  sung  by  the  charming  Signora  Balzamini,  who  died 
very  shortly  afterwards,  when  she  stood  already  poised  on  the  thres 
hold  of  a  career  which  promised  to  make  her  one  of  the  most  dis 
tinguished  singers  in  all  Italy.  Signora  Balzamini  owed  her  talent  to 
her  ugliness. 

Mayer's  opera  le  Due  Giornate  dates  from  the  year  1801 ;  in  1802  he 
wrote  i  MisteriEleusini,  which  acquired  a  reputation  no  less  than  that 
which  is  to-day  enjoyed  by  Don  Giovanni.  At  that  time,  Italy  refused 
to  countenance  Don  Giovanni,  finding  that  the  score  was  too  difficult 
to  read.  /  Misteri  Eleusini  soon  earned  a  reputation  as  the  most 
powerful,  the  most  dynamic  work  of  the  age — a  reputation  which  is 
most  strikingly  indicative  of  the  direction  in  which  music  was  mov 
ing:  the  star  of  *  melody  was  paling,  while  that  of  harmony*  was  in  the 
ascendant. 

Italian  composers  as  a  whole  were  abandoning  simple,  unsophis 
ticated  music  in  favour  of  complex  and  erudite*  music.  Mayer  and 
Paer  found  the  courage  to  execute  boldly,  and  with  real  erudition, 
precisely  what  every  other  maestro  in  the  country  was  attempting 

1  Usually  spelt  Mayr.  Here,  as  indeed  everywhere  in  this  book,  I  have  kept  to 
Stendhal's  spelling  of  proper  names,  however  erratic.  The  accepted  spelling  will 
be  found  in  the  Index.  (Trans.) 


18  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

timidly,  hesitantly,  and  with  so  little  learning  that  every  bar  in  the 
score  creaked  with  the  faults  of  its  musical  syntax;  and  thus  these 
gentlemen  acquired  an  illusory  aura  of  genius.  Moreover,  to  make 
the  illusion  complete,  both  possessed  a  very  real  and  genuine  musical 
talent. 

Their  greatest  misfortune  was  that  Rossini  appeared  upon  the 
scene  some  ten  years  too  early.  Operatic  music,  to  judge  by  past 
experience,  may  hope  to  enjoy  a  life  of  about  thirty  years;  and  so 
these  composers  may  with  some  justice  bear  a  grudge  against  fate  for 
refusing  to  allow  them  to  live  out  their  days  in  peace.  If  Rossini  had 
waited  until  1820  before  beginning  his  career,  poor  Mayer  and  Paer 
would  probably  have  held  a  place  in  the  history  of  music  beside  that 
of  Leo,  Durante,  Scarlatti  and  the  rest,  as  major  composers  of  the 
first  order,  whose  popularity  survived  until  well  after  their  death. 
The  opera  Ginevra  di  Scozia  belongs  to  the  year  1803 ;  it  is  a  version 
of  the  Ariodante  episode,  which  forms  one  of  the  most  delightful 
passages  from  Ariosto's  wonderful  Orlando  Furioso.  In  fact,  the  very 
reason  for  Ariosto's  phenomenal  popularity  in  Italy  is  that  his  style 
contains  precisely  those  qualities  which  must  unfailingly  seem  satis 
fying  to  a  musical  race;  whereas,  far  away  at  the  opposite  end  of  the 
poetic  scale,  I  dimly  perceive  the  dwarfish  figure  of  the  abbe  Delille! 

As  we  might  have  expected  from  a  German,  all  the  impassio'ned 
arias  of  love  and  jealousy  sung  by  Ariodante  and  his  beautiful  Scot 
tish  maiden,  whom  he  believes  to  have  betrayed  him,  owe  almost 
every  vestige  of  their  power  to  orchestral  effects  in  the  accompani 
ment.  Not  that  the  Germans  are  an  unemotional  race — God  forbid 
that  I  should  perpetrate  so  gross  an  injustice  towards  the  country 
which  has  given  the  world  a  Mozart!— but  none  the  less,  their 
emotionalism  (to  take  an  instance  from  this  year  1823)  is  of  that  most 
curious  variety  which  joyously  leads  them  to  believe  that  the  French 
Revolution,  together  with  all  its  consequences,  is  to  be  found  com 
plete  to  the  last  detail  in  the  Book  of  the  Apocalypse1! 

German  emotionalism,  too  airy,  too  free  of  earthly  trammels,  too 
lightly  fed  on  dreams,  may  only  too  easily  degenerate  into  what  we  in 
France  would  call  sentimental  silliness.2  Impassioned  hearts,  in 

1  An  historical  fact.  Basle,  1823. 

3  Vide  the  famous  German  tragedy  Schuld,  by  Miilner.  I  should  feel  extremely 
loath  to  recruit  the  hero,  one  Hugo,  Graf  von  Oerindur,  as  a  corporal  in  any 
regiment  of  mine! 


THE  INTERREGNUM  19 

Germany,  seem  strangely  divorced  from  logical  heads,  and  so  the 
honest  Teuton  is  never  too  slow  to  assume  the  existence  of  anything 
whose  existence  seems  desirable. 

The  theme  of  Ariodante  is  so  magnificently  suited  to  opera,  that 
even  Mayer  found  himself  inspired  on  three  or  four  occasions;  as, 
for  instance,  in  the  chorus  sung  by  the  group  of  pious  hermits  in 
whose  midst  Ariodante,  in  his  despair,  has  come  to  seek  asylum. 
This  chorus,  which  depends  for  its  effect  upon  harmonic  contrasts, 
upon  groups  of  voices  set  one  against  the  other,  rather  than  on  soar 
ing  melody,  is  magnificent.  Or  again,  Naples  to  this  very  day  has  not 
forgotten  the  duet  between  Ariodante,  his  face  concealed  by  the 
lowering  of  his  vizor,  and  his  mistress,  who  fails  to  recognize  him.  In 
this  scene,  Ariodante  is  due  to  engage  his  own  brother  in  single 
combat  in  an  attempt  to  save  his  mistress;  and  he  is  just  on  the  point 
of  making  a  full  confession  to  her  of  all  his  suspicions,  and  of  reveal 
ing  his  identity,  when  the  sounding  trumpets  summon  him  to  the 
battle.  This  situation,  as  moving,  perhaps,  as  any  that  the  most  stir 
ring  of  all  the  passions  in  the  human  breast  could  have  furnished,  is 
so  superb  that  it  is  hard  to  imagine  music  so  harsh,  so  grating,  so 
grotesquely  unmusical,  sthat,  in  such  a  context,  it  could  fail  to  bring 
tears  to  the  eyes.  In  point  of  fact,  the  music  which  Mayer  does  give  us 
is  masterly. 

In  Italy,  so  many  tender  hearts  have  taken  this  duet  under  their 
protection,  that  the  least  hint  of  criticism  breathed  against  it  is 
received  as  irrefutable  proof  of  odious  bad  taste.  Therefore  I  will 
offer  only  one  reflection:  what  might  it  have  been,  fired  by  the  dyna 
mic  inspiration  of  a  Cimarosa  or  suffused  with  the  ineffable  sadness  of 
a  Mozart?  We  might  have  had  a  second  version  of  the  Sarah  scene 
from  the  oratorio  Abraham.  This  scene  between  Sarah  and  the 
shepherds,  to  whom  she  has  turned  in  her  search  for  tidings  of  her 
son  Isaac,  who  is  already  on  Ms  way  to  the  Mountain  of  Sacrifice,  is 
Cimarosa's  masterpiece  in  the  pathetic  manner,  and  infinitely 
superior  to  the  finest  arias  of  Gretry  or  Dalayrac. 

Year  after  year,  Mayer  would  turn  out  two  or  three  new  operas, 
and  was  met  with  rapturous  applause  in  the  most  famous  theatres  in 
the  land.  How  could  he  fail  to  believe  himself  the  equal  of  the  great 
masters?  In  1807,  an  opera  entitled  Adelasia  edAkramo  promised  to 
be  superior  to  anything  which  the  worthy  Bavarian  had  previously 


20  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

achieved.  La  Rosa  bianca  e  la  Rosa  rossa,  an  opera  based  on  a  magni 
ficent  theme  borrowed  from  English  history  (the  Wars  of  the  Roses), 
enjoyed  immense  popularity  in  1812.  Walter  Scott  had  still  to  reveal 
the  inexhaustible  sources  of  superb  drama  which  a  people  may  dis 
cover  by  digging  into  the  forgotten  history  of  its  own  civil  wars  in  the 
late  mediaeval  period;  moreover,  la  Rosa  bianca  provided  the  tenor 
Bonoldi  with  a  sublime  opportunity  to  display  the  full  potentialities 
of  his  remarkable  voice. 

But  the  opening  allegro  passage  from  the  overture  is  only  too 
typical  of  the  abysmal  depths  of  triviality  which  yawn  with  horrid 
persistence  beneath  the  feet  of  any  German  composer  who  dare  go 
in  search  of  gaiety  I 

The  recognition-scene  between  Enrico  and  his  friend  Vanoldo  is 
filled  with  a  pure  and  nai've  grace,  of  a  character  which  Rossini  never 
quite  achieved,  because  its  very  perfection  depends  upon  the  absence 
of  even  rarer  qualities.  This  particular  duet,  incidentally,  is  by  Paer. 

A  perfection  of  the  same  order  is  to  be  observed  in  the  celebrated 
duet, 

E deserto  ilbosco  intorno  ..-1 

This  is  Mayer's  finest  achievement,  and  would  indeed  stand  among 
the  musical  masterpieces  of  all  ages  were  it  not  for  a  certain  lack  of 
expressive  power  in  the  concluding  passages.  In  the  scene  of  Van- 
oldo's  treachery  towards  his  friend  Enrico,  the  librettist  has  furnished 
his  composer  with  a  device  so  deliciously  ingenious  as  to  be  truly 
worthy  of  Metastasio.  Enrico,  learning  that  his  friend  has  been 
attempting  to  win  the  favours  of  the  lady  with  whom  he  (Enrico)  is  in 
love,  cries  out 

Ah,  chipud  mirarla  in  who 

E  non  ardere  d'amor!2 

Mayer  was  fortunate  enough  to  light  upon  an  Italian  folk-tune  to 
express  this  delightful  inspiration;  and  so  this  duet,  far  sweeter  than 
the  more  dynamic  music  of  Cimarosa  or  Rossini,  must  surely  be  the 
fondest  heart's-delight  of  every  gentle,  sentimental  nature. 

In  opera  buffa,  on  the  other  hand,  Mayer  reveals  all  the  clumsy, 
elephantine  gaiety  of  a  good,  dull-witted  burgher. 

1  The  surrounding  wood  is  deserted  ... 

2  Ah!  Who  can  gaze  into  her  face,  and  not  burn  with  love? 


THE  INTERREGNUM  21 

Gli  Originali  is  an  opera  which  can  be  quite  amusing  if  one  has 
almost  forgotten  the  sound  of  real  Italian  music.  The  theme  is  that  of 
melomania.  When  this  opera  first  appeared,  in  1799,  it  merely  served 
to  stress  the  bitter  absence  of  Cimarosa,  who  was  at  that  time  already 
lying  in  prison  in  Naples,  and,  according  to  popular  rumour,  already 
hanged.  If  Cimarosa  had  had  the  setting  of  such  a  theme,  people 
asked,  what  delightful  arias  in  the  style  of 

Sei  morelli  e  quatro  baj  ..-,*1 
or  of 

Mentr'  io  era  un  mascalzone  ...,*2 
or  of 

Amicone  del  mio  core  ...,3 

might  there  not  have  come  of  it? 

The  genuine  melomaniac,  a  farcical  character  who  is  rarely  to  be 
met  with  in  France,  where  his  obsession  is  usually  no  more  than  a 
snobbish  affectation,  is  to  be  encountered  at  every  step  in  Italy. 

When  I  was  garrisoned  in  Brescia,  I  was  introduced  to  a  certain 
gentleman  of  the  neighbourhood,  who  was  a  really  extreme  case  of 
excessive  musical  sensibility.  He  was  exceedingly  well-educated,  and 
by  nature  very  gentle;  but  whenever  he  sat  at  a  concert,  there  would 
come  a  point  when,  in  sheer  delight  at  the  music,  he  would  proceed 
quite  unconsciously  to  remove  his  shoes.  Then  he  would  sit  quietly, 
shoe-less,  until  the  coming  of  some  really  superb  passage,  at  which, 
unfailingly,  he  would  fling  both  shoes  over  his  shoulders  into  the 
crowd  of  spectators  grouped  behind  him*. 

At  Bologna,  I  have  watched  the  most  notorious  miser  in  the  city 
fling  his  gold  about  the  floor  and  gesticulate  like  a  dervish  when  the 
music  happened  to  touch  some  supreme  fibre  in  his  being. 

Mayer's  "melomaniac"  merely  reproduces  on  the  stage  forms  of 
behaviour  which  can  be  observed  any  day  in  the  auditorium.  But  in 
any  case,  the  very  tone  of  the  lamentations  which  arose  on  all  sides 
over  the  absence  of  Cimarosa  betrayed  the  fact  that  this  fine  man  and 
great  artist  was  soon  to  pass  from  fashion.  Even  if  he  were  to  have 
continued  composing,  the  majority  of  the  dilettanti,  instead  of  yield- 

1  Six  jet-black  horses  and  four  bays  ... 

2  In  the  days  when  I  used  to  be  a  scoundrel ... 
8  Great  friend  of  my  heart ... 


22  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

ing  with  unconscious  simplicity  to  the  naive  charm  of  his  songs, 
would  soon  have  allowed  memory  to  usurp  the  throne  of  imagination, 
and  the  magic  of  surrender  would  have  been  violated  by  intrusive 
reminiscences  of  a  twenty-years'  series  of  enchanting  masterpieces. 

Mayer,  besides  being  the  most  prolific  composer  of  the  interreg 
num,  is  also  the  most  erudite ;  every  bar  he  ever  wrote  is  of  impeccable 
correctness.  The  curious  reader  might  take  up  the  scores  of  Medea, 
Cora,  Adelasia,  Elisa,  etc.,  and  search  them  microscopically  from  end 
to  end  without  detecting  a  single  slip  in  the  process;  Mayer's  perfec 
tion  has  the  exasperating  faultlessness  of  a  Boileau,  and  the  only 
puzzle  is  to  discover  why  one  is  not  more  deeply  moved.  Yet  you 
have  only  to  pick  up  any  opera  by  Rossini  to  find  yourself  in  a  new 
and  undiscovered  country;  the  clear,  refreshing  winds  of  the  high 
mountains  are  stirring  about  you;  the  air  is  purer  to  breathe;  you 
seem  to  be  born  again  in  a  new  world,  and  the  thirst  for  genius  is 
upon  you.  Rossini  flings  down  whole  handfuls  of  new  ideas  with 
careless  condescension,  sometimes  hitting  his  mark,  sometimes  miss- 
ing  altogether;  his  music  is  a  jumble,  a  conglomeration,  an  indescrib 
able  profusion  of  negligent  luxury,  all  thrown  together  pell-mell  with 
the  incautious  profligacy  of  inexhaustible  wealth.  I  repeat:  Mayer  is 
the  very  genius  of  correctness;  but  Rossini  is  the  very  spirit  of  genius. 

I  shall  not  dispute  the  fact  that  Mayer  has  incontestably  written 
some  eight  or  ten  numbers  which  have  a  deceptive  glitter  of  genius 
about  them,  at  least  during  the  first  three  or  four  performances;  as, 
for  instance,  the  sextet  from  Elena*.  There  was  a  time  once,  I  remem 
ber,  when  I  used  to  credit  even  Dalayrac  with  an  occasional  stroke 
of  inspiration,  in  spite  of  the  chronic  disorganization  which  always 
marred  his  ideas;  but,  since  then,  I  have  taken  the  trouble  to  study 
Cimarosa  rather  more  seriously,  and  have  discovered  the  source  of 
the  majority  of  Dalayrac's  more  striking  "inventions";  one  may 
suspect,  therefore,  that  a  careful  study  of  Sacchini,  Piccini,  or 
Buranello  might  likewise  suggest  an  origin  and  sufficient  explanation 
for  the  occasional  flashes  of  genius  which  light  up  the  scores  of  our 
worthy  friend  Mayer.  But  with  one  important  difference:  for  the 
German  is  undoubtedly  a  man  of  very  considerable  talent,  while  his 
erudition  is  as  genuine  and  as  solid  as  Dalayrac's  is  superficial  and 
elementary;  and  consequently  one  may  assume  that  Mayer,  if  he  did 
borrow,  will  have  disguised  the  fact  most  admirably. 


THE  INTERREGNUM  23 

However,  there  was  certainly  one  occasion,  in  Venice,  when  Mayer 
did  not  bother  to  disguise  his  borrowings.  The  victim,  in  this  par 
ticular  instance,  was  Cherubini,  and  our  worthy  composer  simply 
turned  to  the  music-copyist  attached  to  the  theatre  for  which  he  was 
working,  and  told  him  blatantly:  Here  is  Cherubim's  Faniska; please 
copy  out  the  score  from  page  ...  to  page  ... !  The  "loan"  ran  to  some 
twenty-seven  pages,  and  was  reproduced  note  for  note  down  to  the 
last  b- 

Mayer  was  to  music  what  Dr  Johnson  was  to  English  prose;  he 
created  a  style  which  was  heavy,  turgid,  and  a  thousand  removes 
from  the  natural  beauty  of  simple  speech,  but  which,  nevertheless, 
had  a  certain  quality  of  its  own,  particularly  when  one  had  struggled 
and  struggled  and  eventually  got  used  to  it.  But  it  was  above  all  the 
turgidity  of  Mayer's  style  which  enabled  Rossini  to  obliterate  his 
reputation  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye;  and  indeed,  some  such  sudden 
annihilation  is  the  ultimate  fate  of  all  aesthetic  artificiality,  for,  one 
fine  day,  the  eye  will  light  upon  natural  beauty,  and  be  astonished  that 
the  opposite  has  managed  to  deceive  it  for  so  long.  It  is  not  hard  to 
understand  why  our  own  classicists  are  so  determined  that  Shake 
speare  shall  never  be  performed,  and  so  eager  to  set  the  whole  pack 
of  "young  liberals"  at  his  heels.  What  awful  fate  awaits  our  modern 
tragedies  the  day  that  Paris  is  allowed  to  see  Macbeth*! 

After  Mayer,  I  suppose  that  no  composer  of  the  interregnum 
enjoyed  so  wide  a  European  reputation  as  Pa'er,  a  musician  who,  in 
spite  of  his  German-sounding  name,  was  in  fact  born  in  Parma.  The 
reason  for  this  success  may  perhaps  be  due  to  the  fact  that  Paer, 
besides  possessing  an  undeniable,  and  indeed,  quite  remarkable, 
flair  for  composition*,  is  an  extremely  shrewd  individual,  of  great 
intelligence,  and  fully  cognizant  of  all  the  secret  arts  which  make  a 
man  respected  in  society.  It  has  been  said  that  one  of  the  most  strik 
ing  proofs  of  Paer's  shrewdness  is  the  way  in  which,  for  eight  whole 
years,  he  successfully  concealed  all  knowledge  of  Rossini's  existence 
from  the  people  of  Paris.  Incidentally,  if  ever*  there  was  a  man  born 
who  seemed  predestined  to  delight  the  average  Frenchman,  that  man 
is  Rossini — Rossini,  the  Voltaire  of  music! 

Every  one  of  Rossini's  works  which  has  so  far  been  performed  in 
Paris  has  been  completely  ruined  by  the  absurdity  of  the  production. 
I  still  shudder  with  horror  whenever  I  think  of  the  first  performance 


24  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

ofl'Itatiana  in  Algeri;  and  shortly  afterwards,  when  it  came  to  giving 
la  Pietra  del  Paragons,  the  most  scrupulous  care  was  observed  to  cut 
out  specifically  those  two  numbers,  the  aria 

Ecopietosa  ...1, 
and  the  finale 

Sigillara  ...2, 

which,  in  Italy,  had  earned  this  masterly  opera  its  most  thunderous 
applause.  Even  the  delightful  chorus  from  the  second  act  ofTancredi, 
in  the  scene  where  the  Knights  of  Syracuse  stand  and  sing  on  the 
bridge  in  the  forest,  was  reduced  to  a  bare  half  of  its  proper  length, 
apparently  from  motives  of  "prudence"3. 

One  of  Paer's  earliest  works  was  VOrofa  tutto  (1793),  but  his  first 
major  success  came  with  Griselda  (1797).  What  is  there  to  be  said 
about  this  famous  opera,  which  has  been  played  on  every  stage  in 
Europe?  Everybody  knows  by  heart  the  wonderful  tenor  aria,  just  as 
everybody  admires  Sargino  (1803).  I  have  no  hesitation  in  placing 
these  two  operas  in  a  category  of  their  own,  far  above  the  remainder 
of  Paer's  work.  Agnese,  for  instance,  seems  to  me  to  belong  to  an 
altogether  inferior  order,  and  only  owes  its  European  reputation  to 
the  facile  and  ghastly  trick  of  copying  the  actions,  words  and  gestures 
of  madmen — unfortunate  wretches,  whom  nobody  is  going  to  sub 
mit  to  the  troublesome  test  of  a  realistic  study  when  such  a  study 
would  involve  setting  foot  in  the  grisly  asylums  to  which  they  are 
confined  by  public  charity.  The  listener's  mind,  horror-stricken  by 
the  gruesome  sight  of  a  father  driven  mad  by  his  daughter's  desertion, 
is  an  easy  prey  to  the  blandishments  of  musical  suggestion.  Many  fine 
singers,  including  Galli,  Pelegrini,  Ambrogetti,  and  Zuchelli,  have 
excelled  in  the  role  of  this  madman;  but  even  the  remarkable  popu 
larity  of  the  opera  cannot  shake  my  conviction  that  it  is  profoundly 
wrong  for  art  to  deal  with  purely  horrifying  subjects.  The  madness 
of  Shakespeare's  Lear  is  made  tolerable  by  the  most  touching  devo 
tion  of  his  daughter  Cordelia;  but  I  personally  feel  that  there  is 
nothing  to  redeem  the  ghastly  and  pitiable  condition  of  the  heroine's 
father  in  Agnese.  The  immediate  effect  of  music  being  to  plunge  the 

1  Pitiful  echo  ...  *  See  below,  p.  90.  (Trans.) 

8  As  this  page  is  being  copied  ready  for  the  press,  I  notice  that  the  great  buffo 
part  in  ritaliana  in  Algeri  is  to  be  sung  by  Signorina  Naldi. 


THE   INTERREGNUM  25 

mind  into  a  state  where  impressions  are  felt  with  an  intensity  which 
is  multiplied  a  hundred-fold,  I  find  this  scene  horrifying  beyond 
endurance;  and  Agnese  always  remains  with  me  as  a  thoroughly  dis 
agreeable  memory,  which  is  only  the  more  unpalatable  for  having  a 
theme  which  is  based  on  reality.  It  is  like  the  subject  of  death;  it  will 
always  be  easy  enough  to  frighten  men  with  the  idea  of  death;  but, 
for  all  that,  to  use  the  subject  of  death  as  a  weapon  in  an  argument 
is,  and  will  always  remain,  a  fool's  trick,  or  a  piece  of  selfish,  priestly 
calculation.  Since  death  is  inevitable,  let  us  rather  forget  it! 

Camilla  (1798),  although  similarly  owing  part  of  its  popularity  to 
the  fashion  for  spine-chilling  tales  which,  at  that  time,  had  spread 
far  and  wide  under  the  influence  of  the  "gothic  novels"  of  Mrs  Rad- 
cliffe,  is  nevertheless  a  better  opera  than  Agnese;  the  theme  is  less 
gruesome,  and  more  genuinely  tragic.  Bassi*,  one  of  the  finest  buffi 
in  all  Italy,  achieved  a  masterly  performance  as  the  servant  in  the 
scene  where  he  lies  fiat  between  his  master's  legs,  and  sings  at  the  top 
of  his  voice  to  awaken  him,  crying: 

Signor,  la  vita  e  corta, 
Partiamper  carita*  ..-1 

This  entire  opera  is  filled  with  interminable  passages  of  recitative 
secco,  which  is  harsh,  and  the  dreariest  thing  in  the  world,  as  it  might 
be  an  opera  by  Gluck.  Where  there  is  nothing  to  soothe  the  ear,  there 
is  no  music. 

The  part  of  Camilla  herself  used  always  to  be  played  in  Italy  by 
Signora  Paer,  the  composer's  wife,  who  was  a  highly-accomplished 
singer.  She  enjoyed  an  extraordinary  run  of  success  in  the  r61e,  which 
lasted  for  ten  years;  but  to-day  I  can  see  no  one  who  could  play 
Camilla  with  any  real  distinction,  unless  it  be  Madame  Pasta.  I 
wonder  whether  the  genius  of  this  great  artist  could  give  the  opera  a 
new  lease  of  life  and  popularity?  Now  that  Rossini  has  taught  us  to 
expect  such  an  amazing  wealth  of  musical  ideas,  and  Mozart  has 
taught  us  to  look  for  profundity,  I  am  afraid  that  it  may  be 
rather  late  in  the  day  to  start  listening  to  music  in  the  manner  of 
Gluck. 

Mayer  and  Paer  are  the  two  outstanding  figures  who  dominate 
the  interregnum  which  stretches  between  Cimarosa  and  Rossini; 
1  Sir,  life  is  short;  let's  depart,  for  pity's  sake  ... 


26  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

having  discussed  them,  my  only  remaining  task  is  to  name  a  few  of 
the  lesser  composers  of  the  period.  I  prefer  simply  to  relegate  them  to 
a  footnote.1 

1  Anfossi,  Coccia,  Farinelli,  Federici,  Fioravanti,  General!,  Guglielmo  (father 
and  son),  Manfroce,  Martini,  Mosca,  NazoHni,  Nicolini,  Orgitano,  Qrlandi 
Pavesi,  Portogallo,  Salieri,  Sarti,  Tarchi,  Trento,  Weigl,  Winter,  Zmgarelh,  etc. 


IV 
Mozart  in  Italy 

1  WAS  forgetting  that  it  is  essential  to  add  a  word  or  two  about 
Mozart,1  before  we  turn  our  attention  permanently  and  exclusively 
to  Rossini. 

For  ten  years,  the  musical  scene  in  Italy  had  been  dominated  by 
Messrs  Mayer,  Paer,  Pavesi,  Zingarelli,  Generali,  Fioravanti,  Weigl, 
and  by  thirty  or  more  others  whose  names  are  now  more  or  less 
forgotten,  but  whose  reign  was  then  placid  and  untroubled.  These 
gentlemen  believed  in  their  hearts  that  they  were  the  true  heirs  and 
successors  of  Cimarosa,  Pergolese,  etc.,  and  the  audiences  shared 
their  belief,  and  continued  to  do  so  until,  suddenly,  Mozart  came 
striding  like  a  colossus  amid  this  lilliputian  swarm  of  Italian  com 
posers,  whose  stature  had  only  seemed  formidable  in  the  absence  of 
true  greatness. 

Mayer,  Paer  and  their  imitators  had  for  many  years  been  seeking 
to  adapt  the  style  of  German  music  to  the  taste  of  Italian  audiences, 
and,  like  all  compromisers  and  mezzo-termine  who  manage  to  satisfy 
the  most  tepid  elements  of  either  party,  they  achieved  a  flattering 
measure  of  success — flattering,  that  is  to  say,  to  anyone  who  is  not 
finicking  about  the  quality  of  the  applause  which  he  receives.  In  con 
trast  to  this,  Mozart,  who,  like  all  great  artists,  had  never  sought  to 
please  anyone  but  himself  and  a  few  kindred  spirits;  Mozart,  who, 
like  some  Spanish  conspirator,  could  boast  of  having  set  his  aim  at 
none  but  the  highest  aristocracy  of  the  society  in  which  he  lived — 
Mozart  had  followed  an  extremely  perilous  course. 

Moreover,  he  enjoyed  none  of  the  advantages  of  a  dominating 
personality;  he  was  not  prepared  to  spend  his  life  flattering  the  mighty 
in  their  high  places,  bribing  the  press,  and  puffing  his  own  name  on 
to  the  lips  of  the  multitude;  consequently,  he  remained  almost  un 
known  in  Europe  as  a  whole  until  after  his  death.  Furthermore,  in 
Italy,  his  rivals  were  in  possession  of  the  field,  writing  their  music 
1  See  also  Appendix  L  (Trans.) 


28  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

specifically  to  match  the  voices  of  their  best  singers,  composing 
pretty  little  duets  for  the  current  mistress  of  the  local  Princeling  and 
manoeuvring  for  patronage  in  the  most  advantageous  quarters  ... 
and  yet,  to-day,  what  is  the  standing  of  a  work  by  Mayer  or  *** 
beside  an  opera  by  Mozart?  None  the  less,  in  Italy  in  the  year  1800, 
the  position  was  precisely  the  reverse.  Mozart  was  thought  of  as  a 
romantic,  as  a  crude  barbarian,  a  vandal  poised  for  invasion  across 
the  sacred  frontiers  of  classical  art.  It  is  not  to  be  imagined  that  the 
ensuing  revolution  in  taste,  which  to  us  seems  so  natural  and  so 
inevitable,  was  to  take  place  in  a  single  day. 

Mozart  was  still  a  boy  when  he  composed  two  operas  for  la  Scala 
in  Milan:  Mitridate  (1770)  and  Lucio  Sitta  (1773).1  These  two  operas 
were  not  by  any  means  unsuccessful,  but  it  was  scarcely  likely  that  a 
mere  boy  should  dare  strike  out  on  his  own  against  the  current 
fashion.  Whatever  the  inherent  qualities  of  these  two  works,  they 
were  soon  swallowed  up  in  the  great  popular  torrent  of  music  whose 
course  was  being  determined  by  Sacchini,  Piccini,  and  Paesiello,  and 
the  two  tiny  successes  left  no  trace  in  the  minds  of  men. 

But,  in  the  year  1803,  or  thereabouts,  rumours  of  Mozart's 
triumphs  in  Munich  and  Vienna  began  to  trickle  across  the  Alps  and 
disturb  the  profound  complacency  of  the  Italian  dilettanti,  who  at 
first  refused  to  believe  their  ears.  Who  was  this  barbarian,  that  he 
should  reap  so  goodly  a  harvest  in  the  field  of  Art?  His  symphonies 
and  quartets,  of  course,  had  been  known  for  some  time;  but  who  was 
Mozart  to  meddle  with  the  esoteric  mysteries  of  vocal  music!  He  was 
spoken  of  much  as  the  more  ferocious  partisans  of  French  classicism 
still  speak  of  Shakespeare:  The  fellow  is  a  savage,  of  course,  but,  like 
most  savages,  physically  powerful;  even  the  muck-heaps  ofEnnius  may 
•  hold  a  grain  or  two  of  gold;  if  only  he  had  had  the  chance  to  take 
lessons  from  Zingarelli  or  from  Paesiello,  we  suppose  he  might  have 
done  something.  And  so  Mozart  was  set  aside  and  thankfully 
forgotten. 

In  1807,  a  small  elite  of  Italian  intellectuals,  who  had  been  invited 
to  form  part  of  Napoleon's  suite  during  his  campaigns  of  1805  and 
1806,  and  who  had  spent  a  while  in  Munich,  began  once  again  to 
broach  the  subject  of  Mozart;  and  it  was  decided,  as  an  experiment, 

1  Mozart,  who  was  born  in  Salzburg  in  1756,  and  died  in  Vienna  in  1 796*,  was 
therefore  fourteen  when  he  wrote  Mitridate. 


MOZART  IN  ITALY  29 

to  try  out  one  of  his  operas — die  Entfilhrung  aus  dem  Serail,  if  I 
remember  rightly.  But  any  performance  of  this  opera  demands  a 
high  degree  of  competence  from  the  orchestra;  above  all,  it  requires 
instrumentalists  with  a  strict  sense  of  rhythm,  who  can  be  thoroughly 
trusted  not  to  falsify  the  tempo  of  the  music;  for  this  music  is  very 
different  from  the  kind  whose  tunes  can  be  got  by  heart  after  a  couple 
of  hearings,  like  the  little  romance,  Cest  V  amour  ^  which  is  so 
popular  in  Paris  at  the  moment,  or  like  the  aria 

Di  tantipalpiti  ...* 
from  Tancredi. 

The  Italian  orchestra,  therefore,  settled  down  to  work;  but,  faced 
with  the  ocean  of  notes  which  lay  blackly  across  the  pages  of  this 
wild,  foreign  score,  the  poor  players  could  make  nothing  of  it.  You 
see,  it  meant  that  each  one  of  them  had  to  play  strictly  in  time,  and, 
above  all,  that  each  instrument  had  to  enter  and  finish  exactly  where 
Mozart  had  said  that  it  should.  The  lazier  players,  in  disgust,  referred 
to  this  unfamiliar  principle  as  barbaric;  the  epithet  was  beginning  to 
gain  ground,  and  the  whole  project  was  on  the  point  of  being  aban 
doned,  when  one  or  two  of  the  wealthier  dilettanti  of  the  town,  whom 
I  might  name  if  I  thought  it  worth  while,  and  who  were  inspired  by  a 
spirit  of  proper  pride  rather  than  by  the  superficial  pin-pricks  of 
vanity,  loudly  asserted  that  it  was  absurd  that  Italians  should  let 
themselves  be  defeated  by  the  mere  difficulty  of  any  music;  and  so, 
by  threatening  to  withdraw  their  support  from  the  theatre  where 
rehearsals  were  in  progress,  they  eventually  secured  a  first  perform 
ance  of  Mozart's  opera.  Poor  Mozart!  Certain  persons  who  chanced 
to  be  at  that  famous  premiere,  and  who,  later,  have  learned  to  love 
this  great  composer,  have  assured  me  on  their  honour  that  never  in 
their  lives  did  they  hear  such  an  unimaginable  witches-sabbath!  The 
choruses,  the  ensembles,  and  above  all  the  finales,  were  transformed 
into  a  cacophony  of  positively  appalling  dimensions;  while  the  over 
all  effect  was  of  some  howling  carnival  of  raging  demons!  In  all, 
perhaps  two  or  three  arias  and  one  duet  managed  to  swim  on  the 

1  This  vulgar  little  tune  (I  confess  it  with  a  due  sense  of  shame)  seems  to  me 
to  be  considerably  less  'horrid  than  the  celebrated  romances  of  Monsieur  R... 
[Romagnesi]*  and|so  many  others.  At  least  it  can  boast  a  rhythm  which  corres 
ponds  hi  some  degree  to  our  national  temperament. 

2  Of  so  many  heart-beats  ... 


30  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

surface  of  this  boiling  sea  of  discords,  and  achieved  a  reasonably 
adequate  performance. 

By  the  very  same  evening,  the  town  had  split  into  two  warring 
factions.  Backstairs  patriotism*  (to  use  a  phrase  coined  by  Turgot  in 
1763,  on  the  occasion  of  the  performance  of  a  certain  nationalistic 
tragedy  entitled  k  Siege  de  Calais)  is  the  most  devastating  moral 
malady  of  Italy;  and  now  the  raging  mania  of  backstairs  patriotism 
awoke  in  all  its  blind  fury,  and  proclaimed  in  every  coffee-house  in 
the  town  that  no  man  born  beyond  the  borders  of  Italy  would  ever 
write  a  decent  tune!  Upon  which  a  certain  nobleman,  M***,  with 
that  spirit  of  moderation  which  is  so  characteristic  of  him,  remarked: 
Gli  accompagnamenti  tedeschi  non  sono  guardie  d'onore  pel  canto, 
ma  gendarmi.1 

The  opposite  faction,  under  the  leadership  of  two  or  three  young 
officers  who  had  stayed  in  Munich,  insisted  that,  although  Mozart 
could  offer  nothing  in  the  way  of  ensembles,  one  might  discover  in  his 
works  two  or  three  little  arias 9  or  even  duets,  which  carried  the  true 
stamp  of  genius,  and,  more  important  still,  of  genuine  originality. 
Whereupon  the  good  folk  whose  only  creed  was  My  country,  right 
or  wrong  I  proceeded  to  fall  back  upon  their  favourite  argument,  and 
to  assert  that  anyone  who  could  admire  music  written  by  &  foreigner 
was  a  suspect  Italian.  In  the  midst  of  these  alarums  and  excursions, 
the  run  of  performances  arranged  for  the  Mozart  opera  reached  its 
due  conclusion,  the  orchestra  having  played  progressively  worse  and 
worse  as  night  succeeded  night.  But  at  this  point,  certain  superior 
folk  (and  nearly  every  Italian  town  holds  two  or  three  such;  pro 
found,  far-sighted  men,  but  of  a  brooding  Machiavellian  disposition, 
sombre,  suspicious  and  persecuted,  who  keep  close  watch  upon  their 
tongues  in  front  of  strangers,  and  a  still  closer  watch  upon  anything 
they  publish) — these  superior  beings,  then,  began  to  murmur  among 
themselves:  Since  we  observe  that  the  name  of  Mozart  excites  such 
tempestuous  loathing;  since  a  whole  country-side  is  in  a  fever  to  prove 
that  he  cannot  write  a  note  of  music;  and  since  we  observe  that  the 
insults  addressed  to  him  are  more  burning  and  bitter  by  far  than  ever 
those  which  were  hurled  at  Nicolini  or  Puccita  (these  being  the 
deadliest  and  dreariest  composers  of  the  age);  we  therefore  may 

1  Teutonic  accompaniments  do  not  constitute  a  "guard  of  honour"  for  the 
melody,  but  rather  a  police  escort! 


MOZART  IN  ITALY  31 

conclude  that  this  poor  foreigner  is  likely  to  harbour  a  spark  of 
genius. 

This,  at  any  rate,  was  the  type  of  argument  current  among  those 
who  frequented  the  Princess  Bianca,  and  hinted  at  in  other  groups 
which  met  at  the  theatre,  in  the  box  of  this  or  that  distinguished  local 
notability,  whose  names  I  may  not  mention  for  fear  of  damaging 
their  reputations.  On  the  other  hand,  I  had  rather  draw  a  veil  of 
silence  over  the  coarse  and  brutal  insults  which  were  published  in  the 
press,  and  penned  by  the  official  agents  of  the  police.  The  cause  of 
Mozart's  music  seemed  to  be  lost;  and  scandalously,  irretrievably 
lost  at  that. 

At  this  point,  however,  there  entered  upon  the  scene  a  certain 
dilettante,  exceedingly  noble  by  birth  and  furthermore  exceedingly 
wealthy,  who,  none  the  less,  was  not  blessed  by  nature  with  over 
much  common  sense,  and  in  fact  belonged  to  that  class  of  persons 
who  carve  themselves  out  a  little  niche  within  the  framework  of 
society  by  standing  forth  regularly  every  six  months  and  declaring 
themselves  the  apostles  of  some  new  paradox,  which  they  then  pro 
ceed  to  preach  here,  there  and  everywhere  at  the  top  of  their  voices. 
This  gentleman,  having  learned  from  a  letter  which  one  of  Ms  mis 
tresses  had  sent  him  from  Vienna,  that  Mozart  was  the  greatest 
musician  in  all  the  world,  began  to  talk  of  him  in  a  most  mysterious 
manner.  He  gathered  together  the  six  most  competent  instrumental 
ists  in  the  town,  dazzled  them  with  the  luxury  of  Hs  establishment, 
deafened  them  with  the  clatter  of  his  English  horses  and  the  rattle  of 
his  barouches,  which  he  liked  to  have  specially  constructed  in  London 
to  his  own  specifications;  and  finally,  in  the  utmost  secrecy,  ordered 
them  to  practise  the  first-act  finale  of  Don  Giovanni.  His  palace  was 
immense;  and  he  placed  at  their  disposal  an  entire  wing  which  looked 
out  over  his  private  gardens.  If  any  of  these  poor  musicians  was  to 
break  the  oath  of  secrecy,  he  was  threatened  with  the  most  dire  con 
sequences;  and  in  Italy,  when  a  wealthy  man  utters  such  objurga 
tions,  he  is  pretty  certain  to  be  obeyed.  Incidentally,  the  hero  of  my 
story  happened  to  have  in  his  service  five  or  six  Brescia  bullies,  to 
whom  no  deed  of  violence  came  amiss. 

It  took  not  less  than  six  whole  months  for  the  Prince's  unfortunate 
musicians  to  master  the  first-act  finale  of  Don  Giovanni;  but  at  last 
they  managed  it  strictly  in  tempo.  Whereupon,  for  the  first  time  ever, 


32  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

they  actually  discovered  Mozart  I  The  Prince  then  engaged  half  a 
dozen  singers,  upon  whom,  likewise,  he  laid  a  strict  injunction  to 
secrecy.  After  two  months  of  unremitting  labour,  the  singers  also 
managed  to  learn  their  parts.  Still  in  the  deepest  and  blackest  secrecy, 
as  though  engaged  upon  some  political  conspiracy,  the  Prince 
ordered  a  performance  of  the  finales  a,nd  of  all  the  principal  numbers 
of  Don  Giovanni  to  be  given  at  his  country  residence.  Like  everyone 
else's  in  Italy,  his  ear  for  music  was  good;  he  listened,  and  approved 
of  what  he  heard.  Now  confident  of  the  outcome,  he  began  to  grow 
slightly  less  mysterious  whenever  the  conversation  turned  to  Mozart; 
he  provoked  his  antagonists,  and  finally  came  to  the  point  of  engag 
ing  in  a  wager,  sufficiently  heavy  to  interest  both  his  and  his  oppon 
ent's  vanity,  and  sufficiently  exciting  amid  the  silent  stillness  of  an 
Italian  town  to  become  the  nine-days'  wonder  of  all  this  part  of 
Lombardy.  The  bet  was,  that  he  would  organize  a  performance  of 
certain  numbers  selected  from  Don  Giovanni,  and  that  a  panel  of 
judges,  whose  names  were  agreed  upon  on  the  spot,  and  who  were 
known  to  be  impartial  critics,  would  pronounce  as  their  considered 
verdict  that  Mozart  was  a  composer  of  more  or  less  the  same  quality 
as  Mayer  or  Paer,  and  that  although,  like  them,  he  had  a  weakness 
for  too  much  noise  and  general  Teutonic  brassiness,  he  was  all  in  all 
not  far  beneath  the  composers  of  Sargino  and  Cora.  Such  brazen 
assertions,  I  am  told,  provoked  ungovernable  fits  of  laughter  simply 
in  the  making.  Upon  divers  pretexts,  the  Prince,  who  was  by  now 
thoroughly  enjoying  the  anticipated  triumphs  of  which  his  vanity 
was  assured,  repeatedly  postponed  the  great  day;  but  at  last  the 
memorable  incident  took  place.  The  test  was  held  at  his  country 
residence,  and  he  won  the  bet  upon  a  unanimous  verdict;  and  for  the 
whole  of  the  two  years  that  followed,  he  was  more  conceited  by  half 
than  he  had  ever  been  before. 

This  incident  caused  a  great  deal  of  excitement,  and  Mozart  began 
to  be  played  in  Italy.  In  Rome,  in  1811  or  thereabouts,  Don  Giovanni 
endured  a  noble  mutilation.  Mademoiselle  Eiser  (later  to  play  a  very 
special  part  of  her  own  at  the  Congress  of  Vienna,  and  who  moment 
arily  caused  certain  Great  Personages  to  forget  all  about  the  Apoca 
lypse)  was  among  those  who  sang  in  this  production,  and  she  sang 
extremely  well.  Her  voice  was  most  accomplished;  but  unfortunately 
the  orchestra  never  kept  time  except  by  luck  or  accident,  and  the 


MOZART  IN  ITALY  33 

instruments  were  perpetually  chasing  each  others'  tails  across  the 
score ;  the  result,  therefore,  was  not  unlike  a  Haydn  symphony  played 
by  amateurs  (and  Heaven  preserve  us  from  that  I).  Finally,  in  1814, 
Don  Giovanni  was  given  at  la  Scala,  and  stunned  the  audience  into 
applauding.  In  1815,  le  Nozze  di  Figaro  was  presented,  and  on  the 
whole  better  understood.  In  1816,  die  Zauberflote  was  an  appalling 
flop,  and  ruined  Petrachi,  the  lessee  of  the  theatre;  but  finally  the 
revival  of  Don  Giovanni  created  afar  ore,  if  one  may  dare  to  use  the 
word  furore  of  anything  connected  with  Mozart. 

To-day,  Mozart  is  more  or  less  understood  in  Italy;  but  his  music 
is  still  very  far  from  being  felt.  In  the  general  opinion  of  the  public, 
the  principal  result  of  his  impact  on  music  has  been  to  throw  into  the 
shade  Messrs  Mayer,  Weigl,  Winter  and  company,  together  with  all 
the  rest  of  the  "Teutonic  faction'*. 

In  this  respect,  Mozart  smoothed  the  way  for  Rossini;  for  Ros 
sini's  wider  reputation  only  begins  to  emerge  in  1815,  and  this  meant 
that,  when  he  finally  did  appear  fully  on  the  horizon,  he  found  no 
rivals  in  possession  of  the  field  worthier  than  Messrs  Pavesi,  Mosca, 
Guglielmi,  Generali,  Portogallo,  Nicolini  and  one  or  two  other  last 
despairing  imitators  of  Cimarosa  and  Paesiello.  These  gentlemen  had 
something  in  common  with  those  last-ditch  defenders  of  the  'magni 
ficent'  epic  style  and  of  the  classically  "noble"  scenes  of  Racinian 
tragedy  who  may  yet  be  found  in  France  today,  still  clinging  desper 
ately  to  their  decayed  traditions.  They  could  invariably  count  on  a 
good  measure  of  applause,  and  be  certain  of  receiving  the  warmest 
praise  couched  in  the  purest  language ;  but  their  admirers  were  some 
how  always  half-aware  of  a  tiny  grain  of  boredom  germinating  in  the 
bottom  of  their  souls,  and  this  tended  to  make  them  extremely 
crotchety.  Their  triumphs  in  the  field  of  opera  resembled  certain 
others  in  the  field  of  drama — let  us  say,  those  of  Saul,  of  le  Maire  du 
Palais,  of  Clytemnestre  or  of  Louis  IX— in  that,  no  one  in  the  theatre 
daring  to  admit  that  he  was  frankly  bored,  each  man  turned  purpose 
fully  to  his  neighbour,  and,  stifling  a  yawn  as  he  proceeded,  set  out  to 
demonstrate  that  what  he  had  just  watched  was  truly  beautiful. 


Mozarfs  Style 

1  O-DAY,  in  the  year  1823,  after  putting  up  a  courageous  resistance 
which  lasted  for  ten  years,  Italy  has  at  length  ceased  to  be  hypo 
critical  in  talking  about  Mozart,  and  therefore  her  opinion  deserves 
to  be  taken  into  account  and  her  judgment  treated  with  serious 
consideration. 

Mozart  in  Italy  will  never  enjoy  the  success  which  he  has  known 
in  Germany  or  in  England;  the  reason,  which  is  simplicity  itself,  is 
that  his  music  does  not  reflect  the  temperamental  characteristics 
induced  by  the  Italian  climate;  it  is  emotive  music,  destined  above  all 
to  evoke  images  in  a  vein  of  tender  melancholy,  which  fill  the  soul 
with  memories  of  sadness  and  echo  the  dying  languor  of  the  sweetest 
of  passions.  But  love  is  not  the  same  in  Bologna  as  it  is  in  Konigs- 
berg;  love  in  Italy  is  far  more  dynamic,  more  impatient,  more  violent, 
less  dependent  upon  dreams  and  imagination.  It  is  not  a  gentle  and 
gradual  tide  which  sweeps  slowly,  but  for  all  eternity,  into  the  farthest 
recesses  of  the  soul;  it  takes  the  whole  being  by  storm,  and  its  inva 
sion  is  the  work  of  an  instant;  it  is  a  frenzy* — but  frenzy  knows 
nothing  of  melancholy;  it  is  a  wild  explosion  of  massed  energies — 
but  melancholy  springs  from  a  dearth,  &  failing  of  energy.  No  novel, 
as  far  as  I  know,  has  ever  described  love  in  the  Italian  manner;  and 
Italy,  as  a  natural  consequence,  is  a  land  where  the  novel  is  unknown. 
Instead,  Italy  has  her  Cimarosa,  who  has  used  the  true  language  of 
his  own  land  to  describe  its  loves,  in  every  shade  and  variation,  from 
the  dreaming  girl, 

Hal  tu  sai  ch?  io  vivo  inpene  ...1 

sung  by  Carolina  in  il  Matrimonio  Segreto,  to  the  old  man  whom 
love  has  driven  half  out  of  his  wits : 

Io  veniaper  sposarti  ...2 

But  I  must  call  a  halt  to  these  philosophical  speculations  upon  the 
1  Ah!  Well  you  know  that  I  live  in  anguish  ...  2  I  came  to  wed  you  ... 


MOZART'S  STYLE  35 

variations  to  which  the  phenomenon  of  love  is  subjected  under  the 
influence  of  different  climatic  conditions,  for  they  might  tempt  us  into 
infinite  regions  of  metaphysical  abstruseness.  Any  mind  which  was 
destined  by  nature  to  understand  notions  of  this  character,  which  are 
scarcely  thoughts  at  all,  but  rather  an  obscure  awareness  of  the  senses, 
will  have  understood  me  already  from  the  few  half-defined  hints  that 
I  have  given;  for  the  rest,  the  infinite  majority,  they  will  never  per 
ceive  anything  in  such  speculations  save  an  infinite  weariness  of 
metaphysics ;  or  at  best,  if  the  notion  should  chance  to  fall  in  with  the 
fashion,  they  might  condescend  to  get  by  heart  a  score  or  so  of  sonor 
ous  quotations  on  the  subject;  but  then  /  am  in  no  mood  to  sit  here 
polishing  up  quotations  for  the  benefit  of  persons  of  that  stamp. 

So  let  us  return  to  Mozart,  and  to  the  violence  of  his  music,  which 
is  a  phrase  that  all  Italians  tend  to  use.  Mozart  appeared  upon  the 
musical  horizon  of  Italy  almost  at  the  same  moment  as  Rossini,  in 
1812;  but  I  am  strangely  afraid  that  he  will  still  be  known  and  loved 
when  Rossini's  star  has  faded  into  dust.  For  Mozart  was  an  origin 
ator  in  every  field,  in  everything  he  touched;  he  is  like  nobody,  and 
nobody  is  like  him;  whereas  Rossini  yet  bears  faint  resemblances  to 
Cimarosa,  to  Guglielmi  and  to  Haydn. 

The  science  of  harmony  may  eventually  explore  the  obscurest  and 
remotest  frontiers  of  music;  yet,  at  the  end  of  each  road  which  leads 
to  new  knowledge,  the  explorers  will  be  amazed  to  discover  that 
Mozart  has  been  there  before  them.  Thus,  in  the  technical,  purely 
mechanical  aspect  of  his  art,  Mozart  can  never  be  surpassed;  and  any 
composer  who  attempted  to  out-do  him  on  this  count  would  be  like 
a  painter  who  tried  to  out-do  Titian  in  the  effectiveness  and  realism 
of  his  colouring,  or  like  a  dramatist  who  tried  to  better  Racine  in  the 
purity  of  his  verse  or  in  the  delicacy  and  restraint  of  his  expression. 

As  to  the  spiritual  qualities  of  Mozart's  music,  the  tempest-wind 
of  his  impetuous  genius  will  never  lack  the  power  to  sweep  away  the 
dreaming,  contemplative  spirits  of  this  world,  nor  to  fill  their  souls 
with  sad  and  haunting  visions.  Sometimes  the  impact  of  his  music  is 
so  immediate,  that  the  vision  in  the  mind  remains  blurred  and  in 
complete,  while  the  soul  seems  to  be  directly  invaded,  drenched,  as  it 
were,  in  wave  upon  wave  of  melancholy.  Rossini  is  always  amusing; 
Mozart  never;  Mozart  is  like  a  mistress  who  is  always  serious  and 
often  sad,  but  whose  very  sadness  is  a  fascination,  discovering  ever 


36  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

deeper  springs  of  love;  such  women  either  create  no  impression  at 
all,  in  which  case  they  are  called  prudes;  or  else,  if  they  leave  their 
mark  but  once  only,  the  scar  bites  deep,  and  heart  and  soul  are  lost 
to  them  completely  and  for  ever. 

Just  at  the  moment,  however,  Mozart  is  a  fashionable  craze  in  high 
society,  which,  although  it  is  by  definition  passionless,  is  always 
happiest  in  making  a  pretence  of  passion,  in  persuading  itself  that  it  is 
passionately  in  love  with  the  most  passionate  of  passions ;  and  so  long 
as  this  fashionable  passion  persists,  we  shall  have  no  sure  means  of 
judging  the  ultiniate  and  lasting  effect  of  Mozart's  music  upon  the 
human  heart. 

In  Italy,  there  are  certain  distinguished  dilettanti,  who,  although 
few  in  number,  will  always  manage  in  the  end  to  determine  public 
opinion  in  the  arts.  Their  success  is  due,  firstly,  to  their  sincerity; 
secondly,  to  the  fact  that,  very  gradually,  their  voice  finds  an  echo  in 
all  those  minds  which,  while  being  sufficiently  well-equipped  to  hold 
a  clear  opinion,  need  first  to  hear  it  formulated  by  someone  else;  and 
thirdly,  to  the  fact  that,  while  everything  else  about  them  revolves  in 
a  constant  state  of  chaos  and  turmoil,  following  the  multifarious 
whims  of  fashion,  they  alone  remain  stable,  never  shouting  to  make 
themselves  heard  above  the  din,  but  waiting  until  their  opinion  is 
invited,  and  then  repeating,  modestly  but  inexorably,  the  same  con 
sidered  verdict.  . 

Such  people*  found  Rossini  amusing,  and  hence  they  greeted  la 
Pietra  del  Paragone  and  Vltaliana  in  Algeri  with  enthusiastic 
applause;  furthermore,  they  were  deeply  moved,  for  instance,  by  the 
famous  quartet  from  Bianca  e  Faliero,  and  maintained  that  Rossini 
had  brought  new  life  into  the  opera  seria;  but  in  the  bottom  of  their 
hearts  they  think  of  him  as  a  brilliant  arch-heretic;  he  seems  to  them, 
perhaps,  like  some  new  Pietro  da  Cortona,  that  most  impressive  of 
painters,  who,  for  a  while,  dazzled  all  Italy,  and  all  but  eclipsed 
Raphael,  for  Raphael  seemed  cold  and  almost  uninspired  by  com 
parison.  Raphael,  incidentally,  had  much  of  the  unostentatious 
perfection  and  many  of  the  profound  spiritual  qualities  which  charac 
terize  Mozart.  Nothing  is  less  showy  in  the  whole  world  of  painting 
than  the  modest  appearance  and  the  celestial  purity  of  a  Virgin 
painted  by  the  great  master  of  Urbino;  her  divine  gaze  is  cast  down 
ward  upon  her  son;  and  if  the  canvas  were  not  signed  Raphael,  the 


MOZART'S  STYLE  37 

mass  of  humanity  would  pass  it  by  in  scorn,  scarcely  condescending 
to  pause  a  single  instant  before  a  thing  so  simple^  before  a  thing  so 
commonplace— or  seeming  so,  at  least,  to  him  who  glances  at  it  with 
a  commonplace  soul. 
The  same  thing  is  true  of  the  duet  from  Don  Giovanni, 

Ld  ci  darem  la  mono 
Ld  mi  dirai  di  si  ...*x 

If  this  were  not  signed  Mozart,  how  many  of  our  smart  young 
dandies  would  find  its  slow  tempo  anything  but  unspeakably  boring? 
By  contrast,  these  same  young  bucks  are  startled,  almost  electri 
fied  into  awareness  by  Rossini's  aria 

Sono  docile  ...  2 

from  the  Barber  of  Seville.  What  do  they  care  if  this  aria  implies  a 
radical  misinterpretation  of  Rosina's  character  and  situation? 
Would  they  even  notice  it? 

But  if  Mozart's  reputation  should  prove  to  be  enduring,  there  is 
one  consolation  for  Rossini;  namely,  that  Rossini's  music  and 
Mozart's  music  scarcely  ever  appeal  to  the  same  audience.  Mozart 
might  almost  say  to  his  brilliant  rival  what  the  aunt  said  to  her  niece 
in  Dumoustier's  comedy,  les  Femmes: 

Va, 
Tu  ne  plairas  jamais  a  quifaurai  sup  laired 

These  same  distinguished  arbiters  of  taste  in  Italy,  to  whom  I  was 
referring  a  few  minutes  ago,  maintain  further,  that  if  Rossini  is 
inferior  to  Cimarosa  in  the  richness  and  fertility  of  his  comic  inspira 
tion,  he  is  vastly  superior  to  the  Neapolitan  in  the  speed,  vivacity  and 
verve  of  his  style.  Rossini's  scores  constantly  show  him  telescoping* 
phrases  which  Cimarosa  would  unfailingly  have  developed  down  to 
their  remotest  implications.  If  it  is  true  that  Rossini  has  never 
written  an  aria  as  profoundly  comic  as 

Amicone  del mio  core  ...4 

1  There  we  shall  give  one  another  our  hands;  and  there  you  will  say  "Yes"  ... 

2  I  am  obedient ... 

8  You,  my  dear,  will  never  succeed  in  attracting  anyone  whom  I  attract. 
4  Great  friend  of  my  heart ... 


38  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

it  is  equally  true  that  Cimarosa  never  conceived  a  duet  as  sparkling 
and  as  rapid  as  the  song  which  Almaviva  sings  with  Figaro : 

Oggi  arriva  un  reggimento, 
£  mio  amico  il  colonello  ...x 
(Barber,  Act  I). 

or  a  duet  as  feather-light  as  that  between  Rosina  and  Figaro  (Act  /). 
Such  qualities  are  entirely  foreign  to  Mozart;  he  has  neither  comic 
verve  nor  lightness;  he  stands  almost  as  diametrically  in  contrast  to 
Cimarosa  as  he  does  to  Rossini.  It  would  have  been  inconceivable  for 
him  to  write  the  aria 

Quelle  pupille  tenere  . , . 2 

in  Gli  Orazii  e  Curiazii  without  an  all-pervading  strain  of  melan 
choly.  He  never  suspected  that  love  could  even  exist  without  a  hint 
of  sadness  or  fear. 

The  more  completely  one  surrenders  to  the  music  of  Rossini  and 
Cimarosa,  the  more  one  gorges  on  its  richness,  the  more  austere  the 
discipline  needed  to  appreciate  Mozart;  on  the  other  hand,  the  more 
thoroughly  one  is  saturated  with  Rossini's  tinkling  dance-tunes  and 
cascades  of  grace-notes,  the  deeper  the  satisfaction  to  be  experienced 
in  returning  to  the  momentous  harmonies  and  the  stately  rhythms  of 
the  author  of  Coslfan  tutte. 

Mozart,  as  far  as  I  am  aware,  only  allowed  himself  two  instants  of 
gaiety  in  the  whole  of  his  life;  the  first,  in  Don  Giovanni,  when 
Leporello  invites  the  Statue  of  the  Commander  to  supper;  the 
second,  in  Coslfan  tutte.  This  exactly  corresponds  to  the  number  of 
occasions  on  which  Rossini  let  himself  go  so  far  as  to  be  melancholy. 
La  Gazza  ladra  tells  how  a  young  soldier  is  forced  to  stand  by  and 
watch,  while  his  adored  mistress  is  condemned  to  death  before  his 
very  eyes  and  borne  off  to  execution;  but  there  is  nothing  sad  in  it. 
In  the  whole  of  Otello  there  is  not  a  hint  of  melancholy,  save  in  the 
duet  between  Emilia  and  Desdemona,  in  the  Prayer-scene  and  in  the 
Willow-song.  I  shall  have  occasion  later  on  to  mention  the  quartet 
from  Bianca  e  Faliero,  the  duet  from  Armida,  and  even  the  superb 
orchestral  passage  from  the  same  work  which  occurs  when  Rinaldo, 

1  To-day  a  regiment  is  arriving,  and  a  friend  of  mine  is  the  colonel  com 
manding  ... 

2  Those  tender  eyes  ... 


MOZART'S  STYLE  39 

prey  to  a  thousand  conflicting  passions,  leaves  the  stage  only  to 
return  an  instant  later;  but  here  is  the  point:  this  duet,  with  all  its 
magnificence,  is  not  a  musical  portrait  of  melancholy,  but  a  superb 
illustration  of  love  in  the  Italian  manner.  It  is  a  description  of  passion, 
sombre,  forbidding,  frenzied  even— but  still  passion. 

Between  Rossini's  real  masterpieces,  la  Pietra  del  Paragone, 
ritaliana  in  Algeri,  Tancredi  or  Otello,  and  Mozart's  operas,  there  is 
not  one  single  characteristic  idea  in  common.  The  resemblance, 
which  at  best  is  superficial,  and  goes  no  deeper  than  a  few  technical 
coincidences  of  style — this  resemblance,  if  in  fact  it  exists  at  all,  came 
much  later,  when,  in  la  Gazza  ladra,  for  instance,  or  in  the  intro 
duction  to  Mose  in  Egitto,  Rossini  was  making  a  conscious  effort  to 
imitate  the  compelling  qualities  of  German  music. 

Rossini  never  achieved  anything  so  deeply  moving  as  the  duet 

Crudel,  perche  finora  farmi  languir  cosi?1 
nor  did  he  ever  achieve  anything  so  profoundly  comic  as 
Mentr9  io  ero  un  mascalzone  ...2; 

nor  even  anything  quite  like  the  duel-scene  from  Cimarosa's 
i  Nemici  generosi,  which  was  so  exquisitely  performed  in  Paris, 
fifteen  years  or  so  ago,  by  the  inimitable  Barilli 

But  on  the  other  hand,  neither  Mozart  nor  Cimarosa  ever  wrote 
anything  quite  so  fantastically  gay  and  light-hearted  as  the  duet 

D*un  bel  uso  di Turchia  ...3, 

from  11  Turco  in  Italia.  Nothing  could  be  more  sparklingly  Gallic,  in 
every  glorious  sense  of  the  word! 

These  ideas,  I  feel,  give  some  indication  of  the  lines  of  thought 
which  must  be  pursued  if  one  is  to  acquire  a  true,  exact  and  deep 
understanding  of  the  distinctive  styles  of  each  of  the  three  great 
masters,  who,  comet-like  and  trailing  their  respective  tails  of  imi 
tators,  have  come  in  our  own  day  to  share  the  dominion  of  musical 
Europe.  He  who  hears  can  imitate;  and  so  imitators  abound.  There 
are  imitations  even  among  the  tinny  little  dance-tunes  of  the  Theatre 
Feydeau.  But  let  us  make  an  end  of  it  at  last,  and  turn  to  ROSSINI. 

1  O  cruel  one,  why  hitherto  have  you  made  me  languish  so? 

2  In  the  days  when  I  used  to  be  a  scoundrel ... 
8  Concerning  a  fine  Turkish  custom  ... 


G, 


CHAPTER  I 
Early  Years 


IIOACCHINO  ROSSINI  was  born  on  the  29th  of  February,  1792, 
in  Pesaro,1  a  delectable  little  township  in  the  Papal  State,  on  the 
shores  of  the  Gulf  of  Venice.  Pesaro  is  a  port,  with  a  busy  life  of  its 
own.  It  rises  among  wooded  hills,  and  the  woods  stretch  down  to  the 
very  brink  of  the  sea.  The  countryside  shows  no  trace  of  that  barren 
ness  and  sterility  which  so  often  betrays  the  scorching  breath  of  the 
sea-wind.  On  the  coasts  of  the  great  oceans,  where  towering  waves 
and  tremendous  storms  scar  the  land  with  the  indelible  marks  of  their 
dark  and  inhuman  violence,  every  object  seems  to  speak  of  desola 
tion,  and  calls  to  mind,  as  on  the  frontiers  of  some  immense  and 
despotic  empire,  the  hand  of  the  tyrant  and  of  his  fierce,  inflexible 
authority;  but  the  Mediterranean,  this  gentle  inland  sea  with  its 
sheltered,  shaded  banks,  knows  nothing  of  all  that  wild,  unfettered 
energy;  every  vista  is  a  paradise  of  sweet  and  sensual  beauty — and 
nowhere  is  the  landscape  sweeter  or  more  sensual  than  within  the 
dreaming  confines  of  the  Gulf  of  Venice.  There  is  evidence  enough  to 
remind  the  beholder  that  this  was  the  cradle  of  civilization  in  our 
world.  Under  these  skies,  forty  centuries  ago,  men  discovered  the 
earliest  delights  of  ceasing  to  be  savage ;  they  were  lulled  into  civiliza 
tion  by  the  sweetness  and  the  sensual  loveliness  that  they  saw  on 
every  hand,  and  suddenly  they  came  to  recognize  that  there  was 
more  wisdom  in  loving  than  in  killing  ...  an  error  from  which  poor 
Italy  is  not  recovered  yet,  and  which  has  caused  her  countless  times 
to  be  invaded  and  humiliated.  How  much  happier  her  destiny,  if  God 
had  seen  fit  to  make  her  an  island ! 

The  political  state  of  Italy  is  not  to  be  envied;  nevertheless,  for 
some  centuries  now,  out  of  the  many-sided  completeness  of  her 
civilization  have  arisen  all  those  great  men  who  have  brought  delight 
into  the  world.  From  Raphael  to  Canova,  from  Pergolese  to  Rossini 

1  His  father  was  Giuseppe  Rossini;  his  mother,  Anna  Guidarini,  one  of  the 
loveliest  women  in  all  the  Romagna. 

LR  c 


42  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

and  Vigano,  every  genius  who,  it  was  ordained,  should  hold  the 
Universe  spell-bound  through  Art,  was  born  in  this  land  of  lovers. 

The  very  defects  of  those  curious  forms  of  government,  which  are 
the  bane  and  blight  of  Italy,  favour  the  art  of  love,  and  so  further  the 
cause  of  art. 

The  Papal  government,  which  exacts  no  obedience  from  its 
subjects  beyond  the  payment  of  taxes  and  a  strict  attendance  at  Mass, 
makes  no  effort  to  introduce  any  element  of  security  into  the  society 
for  which  it  is  responsible.  Every  citizen  is  his  own  master,  to  do  and 
speak  the  first  thing  that  comes  into  his  head,  and  to  satisfy  his  own 
peculiar  interests  in  whatever  way  he  thinks  best;  and  whether  the 
means  he  chooses  to  satisfy  his  desires  should  lead  him  to  poison  a 
rival  or  merely  to  parade  a  mistress,  is  a  matter  of  supreme  indiffer 
ence  to  the  authorities  which  preside  over  his  destiny.  The  govern 
ment,  from  time  immemorial  abhorred  and  despised,  sways  no 
opinion  and  wields  no  influence  whatsoever;  it  straddles  the  society 
beneath  it;  but  it  is  not  0/that  society.1 

In  my  own  mind,  I  like  to  picture  it  as  a  kind  of  Leviathan,  a 
fabulous  dragon,  puffed  and  venomous,  crawling  out  of  the  ooze  of 
some  boundless  swamp  and  looming  up  without  warning  over  the 
smiling  and  flowered  countryside;  it  is  a  noisome,  brutal  creature, 
appalling  in  its  irresistible  ferocity,  and  universally  malevolent;  at  all 
costs,  it  must  not  be  encountered;  every  decent  man  and  woman 
should  run  from  it,  avoid  it,  take  shelter  and  hide  from  it  as  soon  as 
it  appears.  And  yet,  when  all  is  said  and  done,  it  is  fundamentally 
futile;  it  belongs  to  that  category  of  senseless,  inescapable,  but  basic 
ally  insignificant  evils,  like  hailstorms  and  earthquakes,  against  which 
no  one  but  a  fool  would  dream  of  protesting. 

But  I  suppose,  in  the  end,  someone  mil  take  it  into  his  head  to 
protest;  and  that  day  will  mark  the  end  and  death  of  art  in  Italy. 
Instead,  we  shall  be  greeted  by  the  cold  blast  of  earnest  political  dis 
cussion,  as  though  Venice  were  no  longer  Venice,  but  rather  London, 
or  Washington  I 

This  unexacting  little  government,  of  which  I  have  just  sketched  so 
libellous  a  portrait,2  is  infinitely  more  propitious  towards  the 

1  All  this  was  twenty  years  ago  now;  many  things  may  have  changed  since 
then. 

2  Sources:  de  Potter,  De  V Esprit  de  VEglise  (description  of  the  state  of  the 
Church  in  1781);  Giannone,  History  of  Naples.  An  exception  must  be  made  in 


EARLY  YEARS  43 

passions  and  their  untrammelled  development  than  are  the  more 
sober  governments  of  France  or  England,  with  their  wary  vigilance, 
their  eye  on  public  opinion,  and  their  tame  journalists  to  prove  that 
whatever  they  do  is  right! 

And  the  passions  are  the  very  stuff  of  art;  that,  of  course,  is  one  of 
the  main  reasons  why  art  cannot  flourish  in  the  sad,  cold  climate  of 
the  North,  where  Society  is  the  universal  judge  and  arbiter  of  every 
thing;  for  Society  is  above  all  things  dispassionate,  ironical,  and  vain; 
while  its  heart  is  so  shrivelled  and  withered  with  the  terror  of  ridicule 
that  in  the  end  it  is  capable  of  nothing  but  cowardice  in  the  most 
absurd  degree. 

To  excel  in  art,  the  first  essential  is  to  have  experienced  the  con 
suming  fires  of  passion.  A  man  may  be  gifted  with  the  most  brilliant 
intelligence,  the  sharpest  wit,  the  keenest  critical  faculties,  and  yet  it 
will  avail  him  nothing;  for,  unless  he  has  first  fulfilled  the  one 
essential  condition,  which  is  at  some  time  or  other  to  have  made  him 
self  unspeakably  ridiculous,  he  will  never  behold  art  otherwise  than 
through  the  dim  folds  of  a  veil.  He  may  be  filled  with  analytical  pene 
tration;  he  may,  respecting  all  other  studies  worthy  of  human 
attention,  be  a  positive  mine  of  wisdom,  sagacity,  profundity,  etc. — 
yet  no  sooner  is  he  placed  before  a  work  of  art  than  he  becomes  blind 
to  everything  save  to  the  one  part  which  is  totally  insignificant:  the 
material  To  him,  a  painting  is  the  canvas  on  which  it  was  painted; 
while  music,  as  he  understands  it,  is  nothing  but  an  offshoot  of  mech 
anical  physics,  a  science  of  sounds  varied  in  combination.  Such  is 
Voltaire,  when  he  writes  of  music  or  pictures.  These  hard,  insensitive 
northerners,  faced  with  a  Raphael,  can  find  nothing  better  to  do  than 
to  analyse  it,  dissolving  its  sublimity  into  a  smart,  practical  talent  for 
spreading  colour  on  canvas.  And  as  for  music  ...!  (Just  glance  at 
some  of  the  articles  which  used  to  be  perpetrated,  day  after  day,  in 
le  Miroir\) 

Obviously  I  am  being  uncharitable;  yet  the  reason  why  I  have 
allowed  my  satirical  instincts  to  run  riot  in  this  unkind  manner  is 
because  these  very  same  intelligent  people,  who  have  just  been  so 
harshly  victimized,  are  precisely  the  sort  of  critics  by  whom  I  hope 

favour  of  the  excellent  regime  which  is  at  present  (1823)  furthering  the  happiness 
and  prosperity  of  Florence.  But  how  long  may  we  hope  that  such  a  government 
will  survive?  In  any  case,  it  can  render  no  services  to  art;  enthusiasm,  in  Tuscany, 
perished  many  years  ago! 


44  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

that  this  book  of  mine  will  be  judged.  Intellectually,  that  is  to  say, 
they  are  so  infinitely  superior  to  everyone  else  in  the  world,  that,  as 
judges  of  art  described,  they  have  no  conceivable  rivals — even  when 
the  description  may  happen  to  deal  with  a  work  which,  in  the 
original,  they  can  neither  understand  nor  appreciate.  If  I  were  writing 
a  history  of  music  or  painting,  I  should  go  to  Italy  to  collect  my 
material;  but  I  should  publish  the  finished  work  in  Paris. 

For  whenever  it  is  a  question  of  the  accuracy  of  some  abstract 
conception,  or  of  the  aptness  of  a  descriptive  epithet,  then  the  men  of 
the  North,  moulded  by  some  two  centuries  of  more  or  less  untram 
melled  discussion,  recover  that  undisputed  superiority  which  had 
slipped  from  their  grasp  at  the  sight  of  a  piece  of  sculpture,  or  in  the 
presence  of  the  ritornello  of  some  great  theme,  agitato. 

In  France,  the  painter  or  the  musician  finds  the  throne  of  the 
passions  usurped  by  unlawful  rulers:  either  by  the  terror  of  offending 
against  the  established  conventions,  against  a  thousand-and-one 
artificial  susceptibilities;  or  else  by  the  obsessive  cogitation  which  of 
necessity  precedes  the  venturing  upon  a  nicely-contrived  pun. 

In  England,  art  has  two  dire  and  implacable  enemies :  Religion  (of 
the  Old  Testament  variety) ;  and  Pride.  In  the  higher  ranks  of  society, 
the  passions,  without  exception,  are  constricted  by  an  ailing  timidity, 
which  is  but  pride  under  another  disguise;  and  elsewhere,  among  the 
majority  of  young  men,  all  true  emotion  is  overwhelmed  by  the 
appalling  necessity  of  devoting  an  average  of  fifteen  hours  out  of 
every  twenty-four  to  some  ungrateful  labour,  failing  which  the 
victims  are  condemned  to  starve  for  want  of  bread,  and  die  in  the 
streets. 

It  is  easy  to  see  why  Italy,  the  land  of  love  and  of  dolcefar  niente, 
should  be  at  the  same  time  the  homeland  of  art;  and  why,  on  the 
other  hand,  thanks  to  the  petty  and  suspicious  tyrants  who  batten  on 
that  unhappy  country,  it  is  only  in  the  North  that  men  are  suffici 
ently  enlightened  to  be  able  to  discuss  and  judge,  when  art  is  dis 
sected  into  words. 

The  Romagna,  where  Rossini  was  born,  is  to  be  numbered  among 
the  wildest  and  least  idyllic  of  all  the  lands  in  the  peninsula.  For 
many  years,  the  sly  government  of  the  priesthood  has  borne  upon  it; 
and  for  a  corresponding  number  of  years,  generosity  has  been  stig 
matized  as  the  absurdest  of  suspect  or  vicious  eccentricities. 


EARLY  YEARS  45 

Rossini's  father  was  an  impoverished  and  third-rate  horn-player, 
a  member  of  that  fraternity  of  nomadic  musicians  who,  to  earn  a 
scanty  living,  wander  from  fairground  to  fairground,  journeying 
from  Sinigaglia  to  Fermo,  from  Fermo  to  Forli,  and  from  Forli  to 
all  the  other  little  towns  in  the  Romagna  or  in  the  surrounding 
regions.  It  is  their  trade  to  band  together  into  small,  impromptu 
orchestras,  which  are  then  hired  to  play  for  the  fairground  operas. 
His  mother,  who  was  a  beauty  in  her  day,  had  been  a  competent 
seconda  donna.  The  couple  wandered  from  town  to  town,  he  playing 
in  the  orchestra,  she  singing  on  the  stage,  and  there  is  nothing  sur 
prising  in  their  inveterate  poverty;  but  poverty  seems  to  have  become 
a  family  tradition,  to  which  their  son  Gioacchino  Rossini  has  re 
mained  quixotically  faithful;  for  when,  two  years  ago,  he  journeyed 
to  Vienna,  heralded  by  a  name  which  went  sounding  like  a  bell 
throughout  the  length  and  breadth  of  Europe,  he  had  not  yet  set 
aside  a  sum  of  money  equal  to  the  annual  salary  of  any  one  of  the 
popular  actresses  who  sing  in  the  opera-houses  of  Paris  or  Lisbon. 

But  life  costs  nothing  in  Pesaro,  and  so  this  family,  for  all  its 
dependance  upon  so  uncertain  a  trade,  knew  no  sadness,  still  less 
worried  about  the  future. 

In  1799,  Rossini's  parents  took  him  with  them  from  Pesaro  to 
Bologna;  but  he  did  not  actually  begin  to  study  music  until  the  year 
1804,  when  he  was  twelve  years  old.  His  teacher  then  was  Dom 
Angelo  Tesei.  After  a  few  months,  the  young  Gioacchino  was  already 
earning  a  few  paoli  by  singing  here  and  there  in  churches.  His  fine 
treble  voice,  coupled  with  the  childish  liveliness  of  Ms  manner,  made 
him  more  than  welcome  among  priests  who  h&dfunzioni  to  organize. 
Under  the  direction  of  his  teacher  Angelo  Tesei,  Gioacchino  became 
most  proficient  in  singing,  in  the  art  of  accompaniment,  and  in  the 
theory  of  counterpoint.  By  1806,  he  was  perfectly  well  able  to  sing  at 
sight  any  piece  of  music  which  might  be  placed  before  him,  and  his 
friends  began  to  have  high  hopes  of  him;  he  was  handsome,  and  it 
was  thought  he  might  make  a  tenor. 

On  the  27th  of  August  1806,  he  left  Bologna  and  set  forth  on  a 
musical  tour  of  the  Romagna.  At  Lugo,  at  Ferrata,  at  Forli,  at 
Sinigaglia  and  in  various  other  towns,  he  conducted  a  number  of 
orchestras,  while  himself  playing  the  piano  parts.  He  continued 
meanwhile  with  his  singing  in  church  until  1807*;  but  in  that  year, 


46  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

on  the  20th  of  March,  he  entered  the  liceo  musicak*  at  Bologna,  and 
began  to  study  music  under  the  direction  of  padre  Stanislao  Mattel. 

A  year  later  (llth  of  August  1808)  Rossini  was  sufficiently 
advanced  to  be  able  to  compose  a  symphony  and  a  cantata  entitled 
II  Pianto  d*Armonia*.  This  was  his  first  original  composition  for 
voices.  Immediately  afterwards,  he  was  elected  to  the  office  of 
"director"  of  the  Accademia  del  Concordi*,  a  musical  society  which 
then  existed  within  the  walls  of  the  Liceo  Musicak  at  Bologna. 

By  the  age  of  nineteen,  Rossini  had  grown  so  knowledgeable  that 
he  was  chosen  to  present  and  conduct  Haydn's  The  Seasons,  which 
was  being  performed  at  Bologna;  The  Creation,  which  was  being 
given  at  the  same  time  (May  1811),  was  performed  under  the  direc 
tion  of  the  celebrated  male  soprano  Marchesi*.  Rossini's  parents, 
whenever  they  had  no  engagement,  used  to  come  home  to  the  poverty 
of  their  little  house  in  Pesaro.  In  this  town,  certain  wealthy  music- 
lovers,  members,  I  believe,  of  the  Perticari*  family,  took  a  benevolent 
interest  in  the  young  Rossini.  One  charming  lady,  who,  when  I  knew 
her,  still  possessed  great  beauty,  had  the  happy  idea  of  sending  him 
to  Venice;  and  while  he  was  there,  he  composed  a  little  opera  in  one 
act  for  the  teatro  San-Mose,  which  he  entitled  la  Cambiak  di  Matri- 
monio  (1810).  After  a  flattering  taste  of  success,  he  returned  to 
Bologna,  where,  in  the  autumn  of  the  following  year  (1811),  his  next 
opera,  VEquivoco  stravagante,  was  performed.  Then  he  went  again  to 
Venice,  and  composed  ringanno  felice  for  the  Carnival  season  of 
1812. 

In  this  last-named  work,  genius  breaks  through  with  unmistakable 
brilliance.  The  experienced  critic  can  detect  most  plainly,  in  this  little 
one-act  opera,  the  germs  of  ideas  which  later,  in  a  dozen  or  a  score 
of  major  passages,  were  to  send  the  fame  of  Rossini's  masterpieces 
ringing  through  the  world—among  them,  a  fine  terzetto  sung  by  the 
peasant  Tarabotto,  the  Lord  of  the  Manor,  and  the  heroine — a  virtu 
ous  maiden  with  whom  Tarabotto's  master  has  fallen  in  love,  and 
would  have  married,  had  he  not  previously  had  her  driven  into  exile 
through  failing  to  recognize  her  at  the  critical  moment. 

Ulnganno  felice  calls  to  mind  those  early  works  of  Raphael, 
painted  when  he  was  still  fresh  from  the  school  of  Perugino;  both 
betray  all  the  defects  and  all  the  hesitancies  of  extreme  youth. 
Rossini,  twenty  years  old  and  still  timid  in  the  consciousness  of  the 


EARLY  YEARS  47 

fact,  dare  not  yet  seek  to  please  himself  alone.  Two  elements  go  to 
the  making  of  a  great  artist:  a  spirit  which  is  at  once  exacting  and 
sensitive,  passionate  and  scornful;  and  a  talent  whose  sole  preoccupa 
tion  is  to  satisfy  that  spirit,  and  to  cater  for  its  delight  by  the  creation 
of  original  beauty.  Meanwhile,  however,  Rossini's  protectresses  had 
secured  him  an  engagement  at  Ferrara,  where,  during  the  sacred 
season  of  Lent,  in  the  year  1812,  he  composed  an  "oratorio",  en 
titled  Giro  in  Babilonia — a  work  which  contains  many  magnificent 
passages,  but  which  still  somehow  seems  to  lack  the  fire  of  the 
earlier  achievement,  Vlngannofelice.  Once  more,  Rossini  was  invited 
to  Venice;  but  on  this  occasion,  the  impresario  of  the  teatro  San- 
Mose,  not  satisfied  with  having  obtained,  for  the  fee  of  a  few  paltry 
sequins,  the  services  of  a  delightful  composer,  the  idol  of  the  fair  sex, 
whose  dawning  genius  was  on  the  point  of  setting  his  theatre  high  in 
the  blaze  of  fashion  . . .  this  impresario,  observing  that  he  was  poor, 
thought  that  he  could  afford  to  treat  him  slightingly.  Without  more 
ado,  Rossini  proceeded  to  give  an  exhibition  of  that  eccentric  side  of 
his  character,  which  has  always  earned  him  a  certain  notoriety,  but 
with  which,  indeed,  he  need  never  have  been  saddled  at  all  had  he 
been  born  in  a  more  sophisticated  country. 

It  was  Rossini's  undisputed  right,  as  a  composer  under  contract, 
to  have  the  members  of  his  orchestra  perform  whatever  he  fancied  to 
set  down  in  his  scores.  He  therefore  gathered  together  into  the  newest 
of  his  operas,  la  Scala  di  Seta*,  which  he  had  composed  for  this  same 
insolent  impresario,  every  freak,  extravagance  and  musical  oddity 
which  he  could  manage  to  hatch  out  of  his  fertile  and  unquestionably 
eccentric  imagination!  In  the  allegro  of  the  overture,  for  instance,  the 
violins  were  required  to  pause  at  each  bar,  and  to  deliver  a  gentle  tap 
with  the  bow  against  the  tin  reflectors  of  the  stands  holding  the 
candles  which  lit  the  orchestra-pit.  The  surprise  and  exasperation  of 
the  huge  audience,  which  had  collected  from  every  quarter  of  Venice, 
and  even  from  the  neighbouring  mainland  of  Italy,  to  hear  the  young 
maestro* $  new  opera,  may  well  be  imagined!  These  spectators,  who 
had  been  besieging  the  doors  of  the  theatre  two  hours  before  they 
were  opened,  and  had  then  had  to  sit  patiently  in  anticipation  for  a 
further  two  hours  inside  the  building,  took  the  proceedings  as  a 
personal  affront,  and  whistled*  with  all  that  derisive  vehemence  of 
which  an  Italian  audience  in  a  fury  alone  is  capable.  Rossini,  far  from 


48  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

being  upset,  simply  laughed  outright,  and  enquired  of  the  impresario 
what  he  thought  to  have  gained  by  treating  him  in  so  cavalier  a 
fashion;  and  then  promptly  set  out  for  Milan,  where  his  friends  had 
secured  him  an  engagement.  But  a  month  later,  Rossini  was  back 
again  in  Venice,  where  he  composed  two  farze  (one-act  operas)  in 
succession  for  the  San-Mose:  r Occasions  fa  il  Ladro  (1812)  and 
UFiglioper  azzardo  (Carnival  season,  1813).  It  was  during  this  same 
Carnival,  in  the  year  1813,  that  Rossini  composed  TancredL 

Of  all  the  lands  of  Italy,  Venetia  stands  supreme  in  the  sureness  of 
its  taste  and  the  keenness  of  its  appreciation  of  music  written  for  the 
human  voice;  the  reader,  then,  can  imagine  for  himself  the  success  of 
this  superb  opera.  Had  the  King-Emperor  Napoleon  himself  thought 
to  honour  Venice  with  his  presence,  the  excitement  of  his  arrival 
could  have  done  nothing  to  tear  the  people  away  from  Rossini. 
Tancredi  enjoyed  a  popularity  verging  on  the  delirious;  it  was  a  true 
furore,  as  the  expression  runs  in  Italian  (that  loveliest  of  languages 
created  especially  for  the  arts!).  Everyone,  from  the  humblest  gon 
dolier  to  the  proudest  lord  in  the  land,  was  singing,  singing  . . . 

Ti  rivedro,  mi  rivedrai ...  ;x 

and  in  the  very  courts  of  law,  the  judges  were  forced  to  call  for  order 
among  the  spectators,  who  were  disturbing  the  proceedings  by  sing- 
ins 

Ti  rivedrd  ... 

— in  the  salon  of  Signora  Benzoni  I  have  met  hundreds  of  persons 
who  will  bear  out  the  truth  of  this  fact ! 

There  was  a  phrase  current  then,  which  the  dilettanti  used  to  use  as 
a  kind  of  greeting  or  password:  Cimarosa  has  come  back  among 
us!*  But  the  truth  was  better  than  the  legend,  for  the  music  was 
original  and  the  delights  were  new.  Before  Rossini,  the  opera  seria 
had  too  often  enclosed  arid  deserts  of  dreariness  and  monotony; 
admirable  passages  there  were,  but  they  were  sparse  and  scattered, 
separated  too  often  one  from  the  other  by  fifteen  or  twenty  minutes  of 
recitative  and  boredom.  But  here  was  Rossini,  infusing  into  this  type 
of  composition  all  the  fire  and  the  vivacity  and  the  perfection  of  the 
opera  buffa. 

1  I  shall  see  you  again;  you  will  see  me  again  ... 

2  Cimarosa,  who  was  adored  in  Venice,  and  who  had  been  a  personal  friend 
of  many  of  the  music-lovers  in  that  city,  had  died  there  a  few  years  earlier,  in  1 801 . 


EARLY  YEARS  49 

The  true  opera  buffa,  with  libretti  in  Neapolitan  dialect  by  Tita  di 
Lorenzi,  grew  to  perfection  through  the  works  of  Paesiello,  Cimarosa 
and  Fioravanti.  In  all  the  world  there  is  no  form  of  art  more  instinct 
with  fire,  life  and  genius;  it  is  so  alive  that  the  temptation  is  well- 
nigh  irresistible  to  join  in  the  dialogue  oneself.  Man  has,  as  yet, 
come  nowhere  nearer  to  perfection  in  art,  than  here.  The  spectator 
who  beholds  a  good  opera  buffa,  unless  he  have  the  misfortune  to  be 
loom  phlegmatic,'1  has  no  choice  but  to  die,  either  of  laughter,  or  else 
of  sheer  delight.  Rossini's  triumph  was  to  have  dislodged  some 
portion  of  this  divine  fire  from  the  opera  buffa,  where  it  had  become 
affixed,  and  to  have  transposed  it,  not  only  into  the  opera  di  mezzo 
carattere,  as  in  the  Barber  of  Seville,  but  likewise  into  the  opera 
seria,  as  in  Tancredi;  for  it  is  not  to  be  claimed  that  the  Barber  of 
Seville,  for  all  its  unmistakable  hilarity,  is  a  real  opera  buffa;  it  is  still 
one  degree  removed  from  the  ultimate  regions  of  gaiety. 

Outside  Naples,  the  opera  buffa  is  a  style  almost  unknown;  more 
over,  it  would  be  difficult,  for  all  the  recent  progress  made  in  instru 
mental  music,  to  add  so  much  as  a  few  touches  of  scoring  for  oboe 
or  bassoon  to  the  masterpieces  of  Fioravanti,  Paesiello,  and  their 
fellow-composers.  With  such  a  genre,  Rossini  took  the  greatest  care 
not  to  meddle,  any  more  than  a  playwright  would  care  to  attempt  a 
tragedy  of  murder  after  Macbeth.  He  attempted  the  possible,  which 
was  to  instil  new  life  into  the  opera  seria. 

1  Vide,  concerning  the  "six  temperaments  of  man",  the  immortal  treatise  of 
Cabanis:  Des  Rapports  du  Physique  et  du  Moral  de  VHomme. 


CHAPTER  II 
Tancredi 

.  this  delightful  opera  has  already  been  completely  round 
Europe  within  the  space  of  four  years,  what  is  there  to  be  gained  by 
submitting  it  to  a  process  of  analysis  and  criticism?  Every  reader  of 
this  book,  I  fancy,  is,  and  has  long  been,  perfectly  well  acquainted 
with  everything  that  he  is  supposed  to  think  about  Tancredi;  the 
probability  is,  therefore,  that  he  will  flatly  refuse  to  accept  criticism 
of  Tancredi  in  any  terms  which  I  might  propose,  preferring  rather  to 
criticize  me  in  terms  of  Tancredi  Furthermore,  thanks  to  the  art  of 
Madame  Pasta,  Tancredi  is  now  to  be  seen  in  Paris  in  a  performance 
which  no  other  capital  in  the  world  can  equal. 

Indeed,  it  seems  scarcely  credible  that  a  young  woman,  herself 
scarcely  of  the  age  when  the  passions  are  beginning  to  stir,  should 
readily  possess,  not  only  the  sweetest  of  voices,  but  in  addition, 
talents  as  a  tragic  actress  almost  as  outstanding  as  those  of  Talma — 
and  yet,  how  different,  how  much  simpler! 

Nevertheless,  to  be  faithful  to  my  obligations  as  an  historian,  and 
to  escape  any  accusation  of  incompleteness,  I  must  attempt  a  sketch 
of  Tancredi. 

The  opening  bars  of  the  overture  are  both  charming  and  dignified; 
but  I  hold  that  the  first  real  breath  of  genius  is  felt  in  the  allegro.  It  is 
fashioned  with  an  originality  and  a  boldness,  which,  at  the  premiere 
in  Venice,  captured  every  heart  in  the  audience.  Rossini  had  not 
dared  to  take  his  seat  at  the  piano,  as  it  was  customary,  and  as  indeed 
his  contract  obliged  him  to  do.  He  was  scared  of  being  greeted  with 
an  outburst  of  derisive  whistling,  for  the  national  honour  of  the 
Venetian  audience  was  still  tingling  with  the  reverberations  of  that 
obbligato  accompaniment  upon  the  tin  reflectors  which  had  graced 
his  previous  opera.  In  childish  apprehension,  the  composer  had 
hidden  away  beneath  the  theatre  in  the  passage  leading  to  the 
orchestra-pit.  The  leader  of  the  violins  searched  high  and  low  for 
him;  but  at  last,  seeing  that  it  was  already  late,  and  that  the  audience 


TANCREDI  51 

was  beginning  to  show  those  signs  of  impatience,  which,  except  at 
premieres,  always  seem  so  absurd  to  the  actors  themselves,  resolved 
to  begin  the  performance.  The  first  allegro  of  the  overture,  however, 
was  so  well  received  that,  while  every  corner  of  the  house  echoed  with 
clapping  and  cheering,  Rossini  crept  out  from  his  hiding-place,  and 
screwed  up  sufficient  courage  to  edge  into  his  seat  at  the  piano. 

Two  elements  contribute  to  the  brilliance  of  this  allegro:  the 
massive  grandeur  of  pride  chiselled  down  into  the  fine  contours  of 
elegance.  Here,  assuredly,  is  music  fitting  for  the  chivalrous  hero 
whose  name  is  Tancred;  music  worthy  of  the  Knight  whose  lover  was 
a  lady  of  high  renown  and  higher  integrity;  music,  finally,  which 
embodies  the  genius  of  Rossini  in  all  its  purity.  Let  him  be  but  him 
self;  then  there  is  no  mistaking  the  qualities  which  lie  in  him— all  the 
elegance  of  some  young  French  hero,  some  new  Gaston  de  Foix;  not 
strength  or  forcefulness,  as  you  would  find  it  in  Haydn.  To  realize 
the  "high  ideal"  of  antiquity,  strength  is  imperative;  and  Cimarosa 
had  discovered  the  secret  of  it  in  the  themes  of  his  opera  Gli  Oraziie 
Curiazii.  But  Rossini,  unconsciously  following  in  the  footsteps  of 
Canova,  ceded  the  place  of  this  strength,  which  was  so  indispensable 
and  so  admired  in  the  art  of  Ancient  Greece,  to  elegance;  he  was 
instinctively  aware  of  the  trend  of  his  own  century,  and  he  abandoned 
the  "high  ideal"  of  Cimarosa,  just  as  Canova  found  the  courage  to 
abandon  the  "high  ideal"  of  antique  sculpture.1 

In  a  later  period,  when  Rossini  has  tried  to  imitate  Cimarosa  in  his 
search  for  strength,  the  result  has  at  times  been  merely  heaviness',  the 
reason  being  that,  having  failed  in  his  attempts  to  achieve  forceful- 
ness  through  his  melodic  line  alone,  he  has  been  obliged  to  turn  for 
help  to  those  harmonic  platitudes  so  dearly  beloved  of  Mayer, 
Winter,  Weigl,  and  kindred  composers  of  the  Teutonic  faction. 

Perhaps  my  explanation  is  somewhat  too  metaphysical;  true  or 
not,  however,  the  fact  remains:  when  Rossini  is  being  himself,  his 
music  combines  elegance  and  wit;  but  it  possesses  neither  the 
strength  which  is  so  characteristic  of  Haydn,  nor  any  of  that  wild 
impulsiveness  in  the  manner  of  Michelangelo,  which  is  a  feature  of 
the  music  of  Beethoven. 

1  This  provides  a  notable  instance  of  a  point  of  contact  between  sculpture  and 
music.  For  the  development  of  this  somewhat  abstruse  notion,  cf.  VHistoire  d<$  la 
Peinture  en  Italic,  vol  II,  p.  133. 


52  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

These  considerations  have  been  suggested  to  me  primarily  by  the 
allegro  from  the  overture  to  TancredL  The  main  theme  reveals  various 
original  devices,  all  alive  with  a  grace  and  a  subtlety  which  are 
peculiarly  French;  but  the  pathetic  element  is  wholly  missing. 

As  the  overture  comes  to  an  end,  the  curtain  rises,  and  we  witness 
the  entry  of  the  Knights  of  Syracuse,  who  sing  in  chorus : 

Pace,  onore  ...fede,  amore  ...1 

As  a  chorus,  it  is  charming;  but  is  that  really  the  epithet  which  it 
should  have  inspired?  Is  it  not  precisely  that  strength,  with  which  I 
have  just  been  concerned,  that  is  lacking — that  same  strength  which 
is  sensed  at  every  turn  in  Haydn's  music?  This  particular  chorus  has 
a  sweetish,  insipid  flavour  about  it,  which  is  scarcely  in  its  place  in 
any  context,  but  least  of  all  amid  a  company  of  Knights  from  the 
Middle  Ages ! 

Cinq  chevaliers  frangais  conquirent  la  Sidle? 

sings  the  poet;  yet  it  is  these  wild-willed  Knights  (I  had  almost 
written  mid  beasts),  of  whom  Walter  Scott  has  recently  given  us  so 
life-like  a  portrait  in  the  character  of  the  Knight-Templar  Bois- 
guilbert  in  Ivanhoe,  and  who  are  shortly  to  take  the  daughter  of  one 
of  their  own  order  and  send  her  to  a  cruel  death  ...  these  same 
"parfit  gentle"  Knights  who  have  proceeded  to  coo  to  us,  in  dove- 
like  tones,  a  little  lullaby  of 

Pace,  onore  .../ 

Had  it  been  a  scene  set  among  the  poetic  shepherds  ofTAstree, 
Ou,jusqu'dje  vous  hais,  tout  se  dit  tendrement,3 

a  scene  depicting  the  hand-clasp  which  pledges  eternal  peace,  the 
event  might  most  fittingly  have  been  celebrated  by  just  such  a  chorus ; 
but  is  music  of  this  character  really  appropriate  to  the  uncontrollable 
energy  of  the  Middle  Ages?  The  steel-armoured  Knights  of  those 
barbaric  days,  even  in  the  act  of  swearing  a  peace,  would  probably 
have  suggested  nothing  less  rugged  than  the  grimness  of  a  lion  rest- 

1  Peace,  honour.  . . .  Faith,  love  . . . 

2  Five  French  knights  achieved  the  conquest  of  Sicily. 

3  Where  every  word  is  spoken  tenderly,  even  the  words  "I  hate  you". 


TANCREDl  53 

ing,  or  the  stony  severity  of  the  Old  Guard  marching  back  into  Paris 
after  the  battle  of  Austerlitz. 

Rossini's  exculpation  must  be,  that  in  Raphael's  early  paintings 
one  likewise  seeks  a  sign  of  strength,  and  seeks  it  in  vain,  even  when 
the  design  cries  out  for  it  most  urgently. 

This  introduction1  to  Tancredi  invariably  fails  to  produce  any 
marked  impression,  in  spite  of  its  lilting  melody.  Were  it  not  that  the 
very  notion  of  correcting  any  work,  let  alone  one  which  has  achieved 
success,  is  a  thousand  miles  removed  from  Rossini's  temperament, 
he  could  profitably  spend  a  few  minutes'  labour  over  this  chorus  of 
the  Knights  of  Syracuse. 

By  contrast,  Rossini  takes  a  most  splendid  and  overwhelming 
revenge  in  the  ritornello  and  the  passage  of  vocal  music  which  heralds 
the  entry  of  Amenai'da: 

Piu  dolce  e placida  ...2 

Hitherto,  no  music  had  ever  expressed  so  perfectly  that  simple  and 
noble  elegance  which  befits  a  young  princess  born  into  the  Age  of 
Chivalry. 

Amenaida's  cavatina, 

Come  dolce  air  alma  mia  ...3 

lacks  that  strain  of  melancholy  which  Mozart  would  have  infused 
into  it,  and  the  embellishments  are  garnished  with  too  much  pretti- 
ness  for  the  music  to  be  truly  in  character.  A  maiden  whose  soul  has 
some  strain  of  nobility,  dreaming  of  her  lover  who  is  outlawed  and 
banished,  should  be  portrayed  in  a  vein  of  sadness;  Voltaire  appreci 
ated  the  nuance,  and  strove  after  it.  But  Rossini  was  still  too  young 
to  feel  the  lack  of  it;  or  rather  (not  to  launch  out  too  early  into  the 
language  of  panegyric),  an  emotion  was  involved  which  perhaps 
never,  to  the  very  end,  penetrated  into  his  soul.  Later  on  in  life  he 
might,  for  instance,  have  imitated  Mozart;  but  at  eighteen,  he  was 
writing  in  a  style  whose  simplicity  was  dictated  by  his  genius  alone; 
and  that  genius,  while  it  surely  understands  tenderness,  has,  I  feel 
convinced,  no  inkling  of  the  kind  of  tenderness  which  is  inseparable 
from  melancholy. 

1  The  term  introduction  covers  everything  that  is  sung  between  the  end  of  the 
overture  and  the  first  recitative. 

2  More  gentle  and  placid  ...  3  How  sweet  to  my  soul ... 


54  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

And  so,  at  last,  we  come  to  the  celebrated  entry  of  Tancred  him 
self.  This  landing  of  Tancred  and  his  followers  upon  a  deserted, 
lonely  beach  requires  all  the  technique  of  Italian  stage-craft  if  it  is  to 
retain  any  shadow  of  dignity.  The  scene,  as  it  was  performed  at  the 
Theatre  Louvois,  with  the  characters  scrambling  out  of  a  sort  of  skiff, 
whose  agitated  convulsions  (it  being  but  forty  paces  away  from  the 
audience)  were  clearly  visible  in  every  detail,  needed  every  iota  of  the 
magnificent  portamento  of  Madame  Pasta  to  redeem  it  from  utter 
absurdity;  the  more  so,  as  the  "shore"  was  constructed  out  of  ridicu 
lous  little  bits  of  painted  cardboard,  in  such  a  way  that  the  "trees" 
threw  shadows  against  the  sky  I  In  the  same  scene,  in  the  version 
which  is  given  in  Milan,  the  landing  of  Tancred  and  his  Knights  is 
half-glimpsed  in  the  dim  distance,  which  is  indeed  the  way  in  which 
such  scenes  should  be  presented  to  the  imagination.  The  decor,  too, 
is  a  masterpiece  in  the  Milanese  production;  it  is  by  Sanquirico  or 
Perego,  and  the  very  wonder  of  it  compels  the  eye  to  forget  to 
enquire  too  critically  into  the  physical  details  of  the  action.  Fortun 
ately,  however,  Parisian  audiences  are  not  finicking  about  the  settings 
of  the  plays  which  are  served  up  to  them,  and  absurdity,  unnoticed, 
ceases  to  be  absurd. 

For  the  performance  in  Venice,  Rossini  had  composed  a  magnifi 
cent  aria  to  be  sung  at  the  entry  of  Tancred.  Signora  Malanotte, 
however,  took  a  dislike  to  it1;  moreover,  being  then  in  the  flower  of 
her  beauty,  and  at  the  height  of  her  powers  and  eccentricities,  this 
admirable  prima-donna  chose  to  communicate  her  distaste  for  the 
aria  to  the  composer  only  upon  the  very  eve  of  the  premiere. 

The  maestro'  s  despair  may  be  imagined!  The  calamity  belonged 
to  that  order  of  disasters  which  drive  young  men  of  that  age  and  in 
that  position  to  very  madness.  (Happy  the  age,  at  which  one  can  be 
driven  to  madness  !)  If,  after  the  pantomime  of  my  last  opera,  mut 
tered  Rossini,  they  now  whistle  at  the  entry  of  Tancred,  the  whole  of 
this  opera  va  a  terra  (will  be  a  flop)  \ 

The  wretched  young  man  walked  back  to  his  cheap  lodgings,  sunk 
in  thought.  Then  an  idea  struck  him,  and  he  scribbled  a  few  lines  of 
music;  and  these  few,  hurried  jottings  heralded  the  birth  of  the 
famous 


1  Madame  Pasta  recently  inserted  this  aria  into  the  first  act  of  la  Rosa  bianca  e 
la  Rosa  rossa,  where  there  is  a  similar  situation. 


TANCREDI  55 

Tu  che  accendi  ...j1 

which  has  enjoyed  a  wider  and  more  universal  popularity  than  per 
haps  any  other  aria  in  the  world.  There  is  a  legend  current  in  Venice, 
which  relates  that  the  first  seed  of  this  delightful  cantilena,  which  so 
admirably  conveys  the  happiness  of  lovers  meeting  after  long  separa 
tion,  sprang  from  a  Greek  Litany,  and  that  Rossini  had  heard  it 
chanted  a  few  days  earlier  at  Vespers  in  a  church  on  one  of  the  little 
islands  in  the  Lagoon.  The  Greeks  have  managed  to  preserve  the  old 
happiness  of  their  great  Mythology  despite  all  the  menace  and  the 
gloomy  terrors  of  the  Christian  religion! 

In  Venice,  this  aria  is  known  as  the  aria  del  risL  The  title,  I  admit, 
is  somewhat  undignified,  and  I  confess  to  a  certain  feeling  of  embar 
rassment  in  recording  the  (gastronomic  rather  than  poetic)  little 
anecdote  to  which  it  owes  its  origin.  The  name  aria  dei  risi,  since  it 
must  be  revealed,  means  rice-aria.  In  Lombardy,  every  dinner,  from 
that  of  the  highest  in  the  land  down  to  that  of  the  obscurest  little 
maestro,  begins  invariably  with  a  dish  of  rice;  and  since  rice  is  eaten 
for  preference  very  much  under-cooked,  four  minutes  precisely 
before  the  course  is  due,  the  chef  invariably  sends  a  minion  with  this 
momentous  query:  bisogna  mettere  i  risil  On  that  famous  evening 
when  Rossini,  plunged  into  despair,  walked  slowly  back  to  his  lodg 
ings,  the  cameriere  asked  the  usual  question;  the  rice  was  set  to  cook; 
and  before  it  was  ready,  Rossini  had  completed  his  aria: 

Di  tantipalpiti  ...2 

Thus  the  title  aria  dei  risi  commemorates  the  speed  with  which  it  was 
composed. 

What  is  there  to  be  said  about  this  superb  cantilena*!  Talking  about 
it  to  those  who  already  know  it  would  seem  to  me  to  be  as  absurd  as 
talking  about  it  to  those  who  have  never  heard  it — if  indeed,  in  the 
whole  of  Europe,  there  may  still  be  people  who  have  never  heard  it! 

But  only  those  who  have  seen  Madame  Pasta  in  the  r61e  of  Tancred 
may  realize  that  the  recitative: 

0  patria,  ingrata  patria!* 
can  be  yet  more  sublime  and  more  moving  than  the  aria  itself. 

1  You  who  set  on  fire  ...  2  Of  so  many  heart-beats  ... 

8  O  my  country,  my  ungrateful  country! 


56  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

Madame  Fodor  once  took  the  aria,  dressed  it  up  in  quadrille-rhythm, 
and  used  it  for  the  singing-lesson  scene  in  the  Barber  of  Seville.  A 
good  voice  can  render  the  most  dismally  mediocre  of  arias  in  fine 
style,  the  singer  being  nothing  more  than  a  sublime  barrel-organ; 
but  a  recitative  taxes  the  resources  of  the  human  soul.  And  even  in 
the  aria,  the  passage  setting  the  words  alma  gloria  will  never 
really  be  sung  properly  by  anyone  born  north  of  the  Alps! 

Without  the  experience,  or  the  memory  of  the  experience,  of  the 
madness  of  love,  as  love  is  known  in  the  happy  countries  of  the 
South,  it  is  quite  impossible  to  interpret  the  phrase  mi  rivedrai,  ti 
rivedro*.  The  nations  of  the  North  might  devour  twenty  Treatises  on 
the  Art  of  Poetry  as  learned  as  that  of  La  Harpe,  and  still  have  no 
understanding  why  the  words  mi  rivedrai  precede  the  words  ti 
rivedro.  If  any  of  our  fashionable  critics  could  understand  Italian, 
they  would  surely  detect  a  lack  of  breeding,  if  not  indeed  a  total 
contempt  for  the  delicacies  of  social  intercourse,  in  Tancred's  be 
haviour  towards  Amenaida! 

Upon  Tancred's  entry,  the  orchestration  reaches  a  superb  climax 
of  dramatic  harmonization.  This  is  not  (as  it  is  foolishly  believed  in 
Germany)  the  art  of  employing  clarinets,  'cellos  and  oboes  to  re 
echo  the  emotions  of  the  characters  on  the  stage;  it  is  the  much  rarer 
art  of  using  the  instruments  to  voice  nuances  and  overtones  of  emo 
tion  which  the  characters  themselves  would  never  dare  put  into 
words.  When  Tancred  lands  on  his  deserted  beach,  he  needs  no  more 
than  a  phrase  or  two  of  speech  to  portray  his  emotions;  voice  and 
gestures  express  something;  but  completeness  requires  an  instant  or 
two  of  silence,  while  he  contemplates,  with  mingled  sensations  of 
pleasure  and  sadness,  the  ungrateful  country  to  which  he  has  re 
turned.  If  he  should  speak  in  this  instant,  Tancred  would  dissipate 
our  interest  in  him,  and  shatter,  in  our  entranced  imagination,  the 
perception  which  we  have  of  the  thoughts  deeply  stirring  in  him,  as 
he  looks  again  upon  the  land  which  is  the  home  of  Amenaida. 
Tancred  must  not  speak;  but  while  he  is  contained  in  a  silence  so 
perfectly  expressive  of  the  feelings  raging  within  him,  the  sighing 
horns  of  the  orchestra  conjure  up  a  new  portrait  of  Ms  spirit,  and 
echo  emotions  which,  perhaps,  he  hardly  dare  acknowledge  to  him 
self,  and  which  certainly  will  never  find  form  in  words. 

An  achievement  of  this  character  is  something  new  in  music;  it  was 


TANCREDI  57 

unknown  in  the  times  of  Pergolese  and  Sacchini,  and  it  is  still  un 
known  to  our  worthy  Teutonic  friends.  They  use  their  instruments  to 
furnish  us,  as  crudely  as  possible,  with  certain  necessary  information 
which  the  singer  on  the  stage  should,  properly  speaking,  convey  to 
us  in  words.  Their  vocal  passages,  on  the  other  hand,  being  either 
wholly  expressionless,  or  else  hopelessly  overburdened  with  expres 
sion,  just  as  reproductions  of  paintings  by  Raphael  are  normally 
overburdened  with  exaggerated  colour,  serve  largely  to  give  the 
imagination  a  rest  from  the  ideas  suggested  by  the  orchestra.  Thus 
their  operatic  heroes  act  very  much  like  those  Sovereigns  who,  filled 
brim-full  with  the  finest  intentions  in  the  world,  yet  find  themselves 
unable,  with  their  own  tongue,  to  utter  anything  but  commonplaces 
of  the  worst  order,  and  so  are  constantly  referring  the  petitioner  to 
their  Ministers-of-State  whenever  some  question  arises  which  re 
quires  an  important  answer. 

Every  instrument  in  the  orchestra,  like  every  individual  human 
voice,  has  its  own  distinctive  characteristics;  for  example,  in  Tan- 
cred's  aria  and  recitative,  Rossini  scores  for  the  flute*;  the  particular 
virtue  of  the  flute  lies  in  its  ability  to  portray  joy  mingled  with  sad 
ness;1  and  this  complex  mixture  of  emotions  is  precisely  that  which 
Tancred  experiences  when  his  eye  lights  once  more  on  that  ungrateful 
land  to  which  he  can  no  longer  return  save  in  disguise. 

If  this  conception  of  the  relationship  between  orchestral  and  vocal 
music  can  be  made  any  clearer  by  an  analogy,  I  would  suggest  that 
Rossini  successfully  employs  a  device  invented  by  Walter  Scott — 
that  same  technical  device  which,  perhaps,  was  responsible  for  all  the 
most  astounding  triumphs  of  the  immortal  author  of  Old  Mortality. 
Just  as  Rossini  uses  his  orchestral  harmony  to  prepare  the  way  for, 
and  to  reinforce,  his  passages  of  vocal  music,  so  Walter  Scott  pre 
pares  the  way  for,  and  reinforces,  his  passages  of  dialogue  and  narra 
tive  by  means  of  description.  Consider,  for  instance,  the  very  first 

1  It  might  be  suggested  that  there  is  a  certain  analogy  to  be  drawn  between  the 
flute  on  the  one  hand,  and  on  the  other,  those  great  ultramarine-coloured  drap 
eries  which  a  number  of  famous  painters  (amongst  others,  Carlo  Dolce)  have 
tended  to  employ  so  lavishly  in  paintings  of  scenes  where  tenderness  mingles  with 
gravity;  however,  a  suggestion  of  this  nature,  which  might  well  pass  for  an 
illuminating  flash  of  genius  in  Bayreuth  or  in  Konigsberg,  would  certainly  be 
treated  in  Paris  as  mere  rubbish!  O  happy  nations,  within  whose  boundaries  there 
is  known  no  stronger  guarantee  of  a  reputation  for  sublime  profundity,  than  a 
talent  for  being  obscure  and  incomprehensible ! 


58  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

page  of  Ivanhoe,  with  its  magnificent  description  of  the  setting  sun; 
how  its  rays,  already  losing  strength  and  falling  almost  horizontal, 
struggle  through  the  lowest  and  thickest  branches  of  the  trees  which 
conceal  the  dwelling  of  Cedric  the  Saxon.  And  then  how,  in  the 
centre  of  a  woodland  glade,  this  dying-diminishing  light  picks  out 
the  curious  garments  worn  by  Wamba  the  Jester  and  Gurth  the 
Swineherd.  Before  the  great  Scottish  writer  has  even  completed  his 
description  of  this  forest  lit  with  the  departing  beams  of  a  sun  already 
lying  on  the  tree-tops,  and  of  the  curious  garments  worn  by  these  two 
characters — characters  surely  lacking  in  "nobility",  and  whose 
appearance  in  the  story  at  all  is  a  violent  offence  against  all  the  rules 
of* 'Classical  Dignity" — already  we  find  ourselves  disposed,  prophet 
ically  as  it  were,  to  be  affected  by  the  words  which  they  have  yet  to 
utter.  And  when  at  last  they  do  speak,  their  least  syllables  are  rich 
with  infinite  significance.  Imagine  the  opening  of  this  chapter,  which 
itself  opens  the  novel,  rewritten,  with  the  dialogue  wwprepared  by  the 
description:  the  whole  effect  would  be  ruined. 

Composers  of  genius,  then,  relate  orchestral  harmony  to  vocal 
melody  in  precisely  the  same  manner  as  Walter  Scott  relates  descrip 
tion  to  dialogue  in  Ivanhoe;  the  rest  (for  example,  the  learned 
M.  Cherubini)  tumble  their  harmony  in  pell-mell,  just  as  M.  1'abbe 
Delille,  in  his  poem  de  la  Pitie,  piles  up  description  upon  description. 
Cast  your  mind  back  for  an  instant,  and  remember  his  episodic 
characters — how  pale  and  colourless  they  seem;  and  yet  how  brilli 
ant  Paris  found  it  all,  in  the  year  1804.  Since  then,  our  sense  of 
critical  appreciation  has  advanced  by  leaps  and  bounds;  so  let  us 
hope  that  soon  we  may  make  similar  progress  in  musical  apprecia 
tion,  and  that  "harmony"  in  the  German  sense  will  go  the  same  way 
as  verses  in  the  style  Louis  XV.  Our  authors  in  bygone  ages,  La 
Bruyere,  Pascal,  Duclos,  Voltaire,  never  dreamed  of  describing 
nature,  any  more  than  it  occurred  to  Pergolese  or  Buranello  to  use 
orchestral  harmony.  The  poets  of  our  own  generation  have  recovered 
from  this  particular  blindness,  only  to  fall  into  an  excess  of  the 
opposite  character;  and  in  the  same  way,  music  is  all  set  to  drown 
itself  in  harmony.  Let  us  hope  that  we  shall  grow  out  of  the  senti 
mental  prose  of  Madame  de  Stael,  just  as  we  have  grown  out  of  the 
passion  for  unbridled  description  so  dear  to  the  bard  of  les  Jardins, 
and  that  we  shall  reach  a  stage  when  we  shall  be  able  to  refrain  from 


TANCREDI  59 

effusion  over  the  touching  beauties  of  nature,  save  when  our  hearts 
are  themselves  sufficiently  cool  and  objective  to  observe  them 
properly  and  to  appreciate  them. 

Walter  Scott  is  for  ever  interrupting  and  reinforcing  his  dialogue 
with  description,  at  times  even  in  a  manner  which  is  decidedly  irri 
tating,  as,  for  instance,  when  the  entrancing  little  dumb  girl,  Fenella, 
in  Peveril  of  the  Peak,  is  trying  to  stop  Julian  leaving  the  castle  of 
Holm-Peel  in  the  Isle  of  Man.  Here  we  have  a  clear  case  where  the 
mind  of  the  reader  is  exasperated  by  the  descriptions,  just  as  the  ear 
of  the  average  Italian  listener  is  exhausted  and  irritated  by  German- 
style  orchestration;  nevertheless,  when  description  is  properly 
employed,  it  works  on  the  mind,  creating  an  emotional  state  in  which 
it  is  admirably  susceptible  to  the  impact  of  the  simplest  dialogue;  and 
it  is  indeed  thanks  to  the  art  of  such  wonderful  descriptive  passages 
that  Walter  Scott  found  the  courage  to  be  simple,  to  abandon  the 
rhetoric  which  Jean- Jacques  and  so  many  others  had  made  fashion 
able  in  the  novel,  and,  finally,  to  risk  a  kind  of  dialogue  which  was  in 
very  truth  borrowed  from  nature. 

Perhaps,  as  a  result  of  this  long  digression,  I  may  have  succeeded 
in  giving  some  notions  of  the  respective  positions  which  Pergolese, 
Mayer,  Mozart  and  Rossini  occupy  upon  the  Mount  Parnassus  of 
music.  In  Pergolese's  day,  description  of  nature,  whether  grave  or 
gay,  was  undreamed-of  in  any  novel;  Mozart  was  the  Walter  Scott  of 
music,  bringing  to  the  use  of  description  an  exquisite  sense  of 
artistry,  but  occasionally — albeit  very  rarely  indeed — laying  slightly 
too  much  emphasis  upon  it.  Mayer,  Winter,  Weigl,  the  musical 
counterparts  of  M.  Pabbe  Delille,  fling  in  description  by  the  cart 
load,  compensating  for  its  intrinsic  lack  of  interest  by  its  academic 
correctness  (it  being  grammatically  unimpeachable,  and  most  subtle 
in  its  linguistic  mechanics!).  Rossini,  finally,  uses  description  in  the 
manner  which  has  the  greatest  popular  appeal,  with  brilliant  colour 
ing  and  a  peculiar  quality  of  picturesqueness  in  his  lighting;  unfail 
ingly  he  arrests  the  eye,  but  sometimes  he  tires  it. 

In  la  Gazza  Ladra,  for  instance,  one  is  for  ever  longing  to  silence  the 
orchestra,  the  better  to  appreciate  the  singing.  The  effect  is  powerful 
and  harsh,  appealing  only  to  the  sensibility  of  the  trained  ear;  where 
as  the  dilettanti  would  prefer  more  charm,  more  sweetness,  more 
simple  and  lilting  melody  entrusted  to  the  human  voice. 


60  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

Rossini  was  very  far  from  this  failing  when  he  composed  the 
wonderful  score  of  Tancredi;  he  seized  unerringly  upon  that  exact 
balance  between  richness  and  luxuriousness,  by  which  beauty  is  made 
more  beautiful  still,  and  yet  not  concealed,  not  damaged,  not  over 
laid  with  useless  ornament.  Whenever  the  mind  is  over-dinned  with 
noise,  or  else  bored  with  an  excess  of  simplicity,  it  should  return  to 
the  entrancing  music  of  Tancredi,  and  be  refreshed. 

The  feature  of  this  opera  which  sent  Venice  into  such  transports  of 
delight  was  the  originality  of  its  style,  and  the  entrancing  quality  of 
the  songs,  which  were,  if  I  may  so  express  myself,  "decked  out"  with 
the  oddest,  newest,  most  unexpected  accompaniments,  which  per 
petually  stung  the  ear  into  wakefulness,  and  added  spice  even  to  the 
most  ordinary-looking  of  daily  dishes;  and  yet,  with  all  this,  these 
accompaniments  achieved  their  fascinating  effect  without  ever 
threatening  to  encroach  upon  the  voice.  Fanno  col  canto  conversa 
zione  rispettosa,1  remarked  one  of  the  wittiest  music-lovers  in  Venice, 
the  celebrated  Buratti  (author  of  those  most  delicious  satires,  /'  Uomo 
and  VElefanteide). 

"The  first-act  finale  of  Tancredi  has  its  defects,"  I  was  told  one 
evening  in  Brescia  by  Signor  Pellico  (a  charming  man,  and  the  finest 
tragic  poet  in  Italy,  but  now  sentenced  to  fifteen  years  imprisonment 
in  the  fortress  of  Spielberg):  "In  particular,  those  uncouth  and 
startling  leaps,  when  the  melody  lurches  from  one  note  to  the  next!" 
"But,"  I  replied,  "are  we  never  to  be  allowed  to  hear  anything 
startling?  If  you  want  to  make  discoveries,  you  must  occasionally 
allow  your  ships  to  venture  into  uncharted  waters.  If  the  'uncouth' 
had  been  forbidden  by  law,  how  could  Beethoven,  with  his  wild 
impetuosity  and  his  outlandish  music,  have  been  there  to  catch  up 
the  torch  as  it  fell  from  the  hands  of  the  measured  and  noble 
Haydn?" 

If,  in  Act  I  of  Tancredi,  Rossini  still  fails  to  draw  fully  upon  all  the 
resources  of  orchestral  harmony  in  the  luxuriant  German  style,  he  is 
completely  the  master  of  those  charming  phrases  of  shapely  and 
entrancing  melody  in  the  style  of  Cimarosa,  which,  later,  will  be 

1  They  make  respectful  conversation  with  the  melody  ...  i.e.,  the  accompani 
ment  never  trespasses  beyond  the  bounds  of  respect  in  relation  to  the  voice,  and 
always  sinks  into  a  polite  hush  whenever  the  singer  appears  to  have  something 
important  to  say;  in  German  music,  by  contrast,  the  accompaniments  are  grossly 
insolent. 


TANCREDI  61 

encountered  ever  less  frequently  in  each  successive  work.  Mark 
especially,  in  the  superb  quintet  from  Act  I,  the  phrase: 

Dehl  tu  almen  ..-,1 

which  Amenaida  addresses  in  succession  to  her  father,  to  Tancred 
and  to  Orbassano.  In  the  same  act,  a  respite  from  the  strain  of  listen 
ing  to  orchestral  harmony  is  provided  by  the  unaccompanied 
quartet;  both  these  numbers  are  masterly  in  their  effect  In  the 
quartet,  the  part  sung  sotto  voce  by  Orbassano  is  delicious;  this  fine 
melody  in  the  bass  seems  to  lead  one  ever  onward  towards  unknown 
emotional  adventures,  so  that,  without  ever  understanding  whither 
one  is  being  guided,  the  journey  itself  becomes  a  pleasurable 
experience. 
At  the  very  outset  of  the  second  act,  there  is  a  delightful  phrase: 

No;  che  il  morir  non  e  ...  ;2 

but  this  is  soon  forgotten,  swept  away  by  the  entrancing  duet: 
Ah!  se  de*  mall  miei  ...,3 

whose  proud  and  chivalrous  inspiration  contrasts  so  magnificently 
with  the  music  which  has  gone  before. 

In  this  fine  section  of  the  score,  the  predominant  characteristic  is 
the  fiery  spirit  of  war-like  knight-errantry,  shot  through  with  the 
stirring,  irresistible  frenzy  of  the  Middle  Ages,  which,  in  nobler 
minds  at  least,  transformed  the  brutal  fact  of  war  and  its  accompany 
ing  dangers,  which  we  have  degraded  to  a  methodical  and  mathe 
matical  nastiness*,  into  a  thing  of  the  spirit.  This  triumph  of  Rossini's 
art  is  not  to  be  analysed  in  terms  of  any  mere  physical  or  technical 
devices  which  he  selects  and  uses,  successfully  or  otherwise;  such 
secondary  considerations  scarcely  concern  us  here.  Mark  rather  the 
originality  of  what  he  chooses  to  depict.  Tancred's  part  in  the  duet 

Ah!  se  de'  malt  miei ..., 
which  begins  in  a  strain  of  profound,  heroic  melancholy: 

1  Alas!  You,  at  least ...  2  No;  since  dying  is  not ... 

8  Ah!  If  from  my  misfortunes  ... 

4  Vide:  la  Tactique,  by  M.  de  Guibert  Bayard  invariably  refused  the  supreme 
command. 


62  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

Nemico  il  del  pro  vai, 
Fin  da  prim'  ami  ognor. 


Ah!  son  si  misero  ..-,1 

ends  upon  a  brilliant  note  of  triumph,  of  courage  which  has  learned 
to  face  a  sea  of  troubles  with  stoical  determination.  Thus,  after  a 
brief  moment  of  despondency,  a  hesitation  due  to  human  weakness 
and  to  human  love,  which  is  both  natural  and  moving,  Rossini  bursts 
forth  into  a  heroic  vision  of  modem  national  idealism,  in  the  best 
sense  of  the  term — a  conception  which  no  Italian  composer  could 
have  so  much  as  dreamed  of  before  the  events  of  the  Bridge  of  Arcola 
and  the  March  to  Lodi.  These  immortal  names  must  have  been 
among  the  earliest  that  Rossini  heard  in  childhood;  they  date  from 
1796,  when  Rossini  was  five;  and  in  that  year,  in  Pesaro,  he  could 
have  watched  the  immortal  battalions  marching  through,  fired  with 
the  quintessence  of  military  ardour,  sinewy,  stripped  bare  of  silks  and 
silver,  medals,  orders  and  crosses,  striding  onward  to  Tolentino,  to 
the  conquest  of  that  wealth  of  paintings,  statues,  and  still  greater 
works  of  art  which,  in  later  days,  when  our  strength  had  been  sapped 
by  the  lapping  luxury  of  royalty,  were  wrested  back  from  us  at  the 
stirring  of  a  finger!  Fired  by  that  same  lofty  inspiration  which 
Tancred  experiences  at  the  touch  of  the  spur  of  national  honour, 
should  we  not  swear  that  one  day  we  shall  have  vengeance,  and  seize 
our  trophies  again  into  our  own  hands? 

In  the  course  of  this  war-like  duet,  Rossini  uses  his  trumpets  with 
infinite  skill,  worthy  of  the  most  consummate  master;  he,  by  instinct 
and  at  the  age  of  seventeen,  had  discovered  secrets  which  others  may 
scarcely  learn,  by  theory  or  by  practice,  even  after  years  of  pains 
taking  study. 

The  melodic  period: 

II  vivo  lampo  ...2 

which  accompanies  the  instant  when  Tancred  draws  his  sword,  is,  I 
believe,  the  finest  thing  that  Rossini  has  ever  written.  It  possesses 
every  quality:  nobility,  truth  and  originality. 
I  should  like  to  advise  all  singers,  even  Madame  Pasta,  to  be 

1  I  have  found  the  heavens  to  be  hostile,  ever  since  my  earliest  youth  ...  alas! 
I  am  so  wretched! 

2  The  vivid  flash  ... 


TANCREDI  63 

sparing  in  the  use  of  roulades  in  these  immeasurably  brief  instants  of 
extreme  passion,  as,  for  instance,  when  Tancred  exclaims: 

Odiarla!  o  del  non  so  ..-1 

Any  character  who,  in  such  moments  of  passionate  intoxication, 
still  finds  time  to  be  elegant — that  is  to  say,  still  finds  time  to  remem 
ber  that  other  people  exist,  to  calculate  how  he  may  stand  in  their 
opinion,  and  to  court  their  approval — in  my  belief  can  boast  of 
nothing  but  a  most  insensitive  disposition.  The  truly  passionate 
character,  on  such  occasions,  forgets  all  elegance  save  that  which  has 
become  second  nature  to  him.  By  contrast,  when  roulades  are  used 
to  accompany  the  words : 

Di  quella  spada  ...,2 

the  effect  is  incomparable. 

Allow  me,  by  the  way,  to  remark  that  our  learned  literary  friends, 
who  so  fondly  imagine  that  by  studying  Boileau  they  can  grow  into 
connoisseurs  of  Italian  opera,  have  swom  an  oath  of  undying  hatred 
towards  all  roulades,  flourishes  and  ornaments  in  music.  Their  ideal 
is  above  all  severity — stylistic  asceticism  ... 

Non  raggioniam  di  loro,  ma  guarda  e  passa** 

The  first  dozen  bars  which  Tancred  sings  when  he  is  brought  back 
in  his  triumphal  chariot  are  delightful;  they  bring  both  freshness  and 
respite.  The  chorus  of  the  Knights  who  have  gone  to  seek  Tancred  in 
the  forest, 

Regna  il  terror  ...,4 

is,  in  a  different  vein,  almost  as  fine  as  the  aria :  il  vivo  lampo. . . .  Here 
in  my  opinion,  the  combination  of  Italian  melody  with  German-style 
orchestration  touches  perfection;  it  marks  the  point  at  which  our 
present  revolution,  which  is  hurtling  us  headlong  towards  harmonic 
complexity,  should  be  arrested. 

The  dynamic  force  which  is  urging  this  revolution  forward  lies  in 
one  very  simple  phenomenon,  which  is  this:  among  the  nations  of  the 

1  Hate  her?  O  heaven,  I  do  not  know  ...  2  Of  that  sword  ... 

a  Do  not  let  us  talk  about  them;  cast  a  glance  and  pass  on.  (The  line  is  spoken 
by  Virgil  to  Dante,  as  they  journey  through  the  Inferno  of  the  half-hearted.) 
4  Terror  reigns  ... 


64  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

North,  out  of  every  score  of  charming  young  ladies  who  indulge  in 
the  luxury  of  music-lessons,  nineteen  learn  to  play  the  piano;  one 
alone  learns  to  sing,  and  consequently  the  nineteen  others  come  in  the 
end  to  believe  that  nothing  can  be  beautiful  unless  it  is  difficult.  In 
Italy,  the  Ideal  of  Beauty  (in  so  far  as  music  is  concerned)  is  univers 
ally  sought  by  way  of  the  human  voice. 

I  should  grow  infinitely  tedious  if  I  yielded  to  the  temptation  of 
setting  down  my  impressions  concerning  every  separate  passage  in 
Tancredi',  or  rather,  not  my  impressions,  but  the  impressions  which 
were  abroad  in  Naples,  or  in  Florence,  or  in  Brescia,  or  wherever  I 
happened  to  see  this  particular  opera;  for  no  one  has  a  deeper  mis 
trust  than  I  of  personal  impressions,  which,  even  when  they  are 
sincere,  are  all  the  world  to  him  who  holds  them,  and  supremely  in 
different,  if  not  downright  absurd,  to  the  next  man,  who  happens  not 
to  share  them.  I  implore  the  reader  to  believe  me,  when  I  state  that 
throughout  this  book  the  personal  pronoun  /  is  simply  a  conven 
tional  device,  which  might  at  any  time  be  replaced  by  a  different 
phrase,  such  as:  It  used  to  be  said  in  Naples,  among  those  who 
frequented  the  Marchese  Berio  . . . ;  or  else,  One  day,  in  the  company  of 
Signora  Benzoni,  Signor  Peruchini,  that  most  cultivated  of  Venetian 
music-lovers,  whose  very  opinions  are  law,  remarked  that  ... ;  or  else, 
This  evening,  amid  the  group  which  gathers  in  the  theatre  around  Signor 
Antonini,  the  lawyer,  I 'heard Signor  Agguchi  maintain  that  harmony  in 
the  German  style  ...;  and  M.  le  Comte  Giraud  agreed  with  hi?n;  which 
opinion,  however,  Signor  Gherardi,  who  is  a  personal  friend  of  Rossini, 
proceeded  to  refute  point  by  point.  . . .  The  rare  impressions  scattered 
throughout  this  work  which  are  wholly  of  a  personal  nature,  are 
hemmed  in  with  all  manner  of  doubts  and  qualifications,  which  in 
deed  reflect  the  attitude  of  the  Author  himself;  and  besides,  the 
Author  here  confesses  that,  in  composing  this  Life  of  Rossini,  he  has 
unashamedly  borrowed  his  judgments  concerning  this  great  man  and 
his  works  from  all  manner  of  sources,  and  amongst  others,  from 
countless  German  and  Italian  periodicals. 

In  this  way,  at  Bologna,  in  the  box  of  Signora  Z***,  I  recorded  the 
following  opinion  from  my  friend  Gherardi:  In  Tancredi,  the  most 
striking  feature  is  the  youthfulness  of  the  music.  Elsewhere,  audacity 
is  one  of  the  most  remarkable  characteristics  of  Rossini's  compositions, 
as  indeed  it  is  of  his  personal  character.  But  in  Tancredi,  this  audacity, 


TANCREDI  65 

which  thrills  and  astounds  me  in  la  Gazza  ladra,  or  in  il  Barbiere,  is 
missing.  There  is  nothing  but  purity  and  simplicity  in  every  note;  not  an 
atom  of  embellishment,  just  genius  in  all  its  primitive  innocence; 
genius  which,  if  I  may  be  permitted  the  expression,  is  still  virginal  I 
adore  everything  in  Tancredi,  even  a  curiously  archaic  suggestion 
which  I  detect  here  and  there  in  the  melodic  line  of  some  of  the  songs; 
they  seem  to  retain  something  of  the  form  which  was  familiar  to 
Paesiello  and  to  Cimarosa — those  long,  shapely  phrases  which  some 
how  manage  to  elude  us  only  too  easily,  enchanting  the  imagination  ... 
and  escaping,  ensnaring  the  soul  ...  and  vanishing!  In  short,  I  love 
Tancredi  as  I  love  Tasso's  Rinaldo,  for  both  betray  the  still-virginal 
sensibility  of  a  man  of  genius. 

Rossini,  whose  audacious  insult  to  the  Venetian  public  with  that 
famous  obbligato  upon  the  tin  reflectors  was  still  very  recent,  was 
obviously  in  no  mood  now  to  retreat  timidly  among  the  melodic  and 
harmonic  platitudes  which  disfigured  the  scores  of  the  majority  of  his 
rivals.  I  cannot  detect  in  Tancredi,  at  least  in  performance,  one  single 
specimen  of  those  harmonic  cliches  which  form,  as  it  were,  the  stock- 
in-trade  of  the  average  composer  of  the  German  school,  and  which, 
in  later  years,  Rossini  employed  only  too  frequently  in  his  German- 
style  operas,  Mose,  Otello,  la  Gazza  ladra,  Ermione,  etc.  For  in 
Naples,  when  such  men  as  Zingarelli  and  Paesiello  (great  men  once, 
but  now  in  their  dotage,  and  a  prey  to  pedantry  and  jealousy) 
accused  him  of  ignorance,  Rossini  reacted  by  seeking  the  approval  of 
the  protagonists  of  the  ascetic  style.  Now,  the  phrase  ascetic  style, 
when  it  is  employed  by  artistic  charlatans,  and  echoed  and  repeated 
parrot-fashion,  mechanically,  by  woolly-minded  enthusiasts,  turns 
out  almost  invariably  to  mean  a  style  stuffed  with  harmonic  plati 
tudes;  which  style  only  too  often  deceives  the  uninitiated,  amongst 
whom,  in  Milan  in  1817,  I  must  count  myself,  having  been  utterly 
hoodwinked  and  taken  in  by  Soliva's  opera  la  Testa  diBronzo*. 

I  could  easily  compose  twenty  lines  of  commentary  upon  every  one 
of  the  arias  or  ensembles  of  Tancredi.  Reflexions  of  this  nature,  when 
they  are  delivered  seated  at  the  piano,  have  their  value;  for,  by 
analysing  impressions  while  they  are  still  fresh  in  the  mind,  the 
analysis  may  serve  to  intensify  the  sensation  experienced,  and,  more 
especially,  may  help  to  give  it  some  permanence,  and  to  establish  it 
more  definitely  in  the  world  of  memory.  But  these  same  reflections, 


66  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

transplanted  into  a  book,  and  delivered  far  away  from  any  piano, 
can  soon  grow  intolerably  boring.  And  yet  I  need  to  be  threatened 
with  that  terrible  word  boredom,  with  all  its  tragic  implications, 
before  I  can  constrain  myself  to  curtail  my  enthusiasm  for 
TancredL 

It  may  well  be  imagined  that,  in  a  land  such  as  Venice,  Rossini's 
glory  as  a  composer  was  easily  equalled  by  his  triumphs  as  a  man.  It 
was  not  long  before  la  Marcolini,  a  delightful  cantatrice  buffa,  and, 
at  the  same  time,  a  woman  in  the  fullest  flower  of  her  youth  and 
talent,  swept  him  away  from  the  great  ladies  who  had  been  his  first 
protectresses.  The  gossips  whispered  of  base  ingratitude;  and  there 
were  many  tears  shed.  Moreover,  there  is  an  anecdote — somewhat 
intricate,  but  exceedingly  amusing — relating  to  this  adventure,  which 
provides  a  beautiful  illustration  of  Rossini's  character,  his  audacity, 
his  gaiety,  and  above  all  his  ability  to  make  quick  decisions;  but,  to 
tell  the  truth,  it  is  an  anecdote  which  I  dare  not  set  down  in  print.  To 
baffle  the  curious,  I  might  change  names  until  they  were  utterly  un 
recognizable;  yet  the  circumstances  of  the  tale  are  so  extraordinary 
that  there  is  not  a  man  or  woman  in  all  Italy  who  could  fail  to  pick 
out  the  real  actors;  so  we  must  wait  a  year  or  two.  Incidentally,  it  is 
said  that  la  Marcolini,  not  to  be  outdone  by  Rossini,  made  him  the 
sacrifice  of  prince  Lucien  Bonaparte. 

And  indeed,  it  was  for  la  Marcolini,  for  her  ravishing  contralto 
voice  and  for  her  magnificent  gifts  as  a  comic  actress,  that  Rossini 
composed  the  superb  comic  role  of  the  Italian  Girl  in  Algiers,  which 
we  poor  northerners  have  beheld  so  nobly  distorted.  There  is  a 
certain  actress  (yet,  in  deference  to  her  beauty,  she  shall  be  nameless) 
who  transforms  this  young  creature  with  her  southern  temperament, 
this  joyous,  irresponsible,  gay,  passionate  young  woman,  who,  let  it 
be  admitted,  has  but  the  most  fleeting  regard  for  her  reputation,  into 
a  solid,  stolid  Yorkshire  miss,  whose  most  deep-seated  care,  in  every 
situation,  is  to  merit  the  approbation  of  all  the  old  wives  in  the 
parish,  failing  whose  good  opinion,  she  must  be  for  ever  left  high  and 
dry  without  a  husband.  Is  there  no  refuge,  where  a  man  may  seek 
asylum  from  the  furious  pursuit  of  virtue?  Do  I  patronize  the  opera 
buffa  in  order  to  enjoy  the  noble  prospect,1  the  monumental  delinea 
tion  of  female  perfection?  I  suppose  I  should  be  held  guilty  of 
1  In  English  in  the  original  (Trans.) 


TANCREDI  67 

"shocking  the  tone  of  our  serious-minded  generation",  or  of  "offer 
ing  flagrant  insults  to  the  laws  of  decency"  etc.,  etc.,  if  I  dared  suggest 
that,  the  more  our  manners  and  morals  grow  dingy,  strait-laced 
and  hypocritical,  the  better  claim  we  have  to  some  compensating 
debauch  of  frivolity  in  our  entertainments! 


H, 


CHAPTER  III 
Ultaliana  in  Algeri 


_OWEVER,  let  us  rather  consider  Vltaliana,  not  as  it  was  seen  in 
Paris  (thanks  to  the  machinations  of  certain  very  clever  persons*, 
who  were  stubbornly  set  on  poisoning  whatever  delight  we  might 
have  been  prepared  to  take  in  Rossini),  but  as  it  was  given  in  Italy, 
where  its  appearance  immediately  lifted  its  young  composer  straight 
into  the  front  rank  among  maestri. 

There  is  more  permanence,  more  persistence  and  solidity  in  the 
sheen  of  the  rainbow  than  in  the  emotions  which  music  is  able  to 
awaken  in  the  human  soul;  music  itself  has  no  stable  element  of 
reality;  and  since  its  enchantment  stems  wholly  from  the  imagina 
tion,  it  needs  no  more  than  some  slight,  even  involuntary,  associa 
tion  of  contaminating  ideas  to  stifle  the  success  of  a  masterpiece. 
This  was  the  fate  ofFItaliana  in  Paris ;  and  it  has  been  spoiled  to  such 
an  extent,  that  it  can  never  hope  now  to  inspire  unreserved  delight  in 
that  city.  Before  the  audience  so  much  as  sets  foot  in  the  theatre,  it  is 
intolerably  prejudiced,  unshakably  persuaded  beforehand  that  it  is 
doomed  to  endure  an  evening  of  grim  mediocrity.  A  prejudice  of  this 
nature  would  necessarily  be  fatal  to  the  finest  of  music  in  any  country 
in  the  world;  judge  then  of  its  effect  in  the  heart  of  a  nation  where  a 
man  thinks  it  neither  odd  nor  ignorant  to  enquire  of  his  neighbour: 
Pray,  Sir  ...am  I  amused? 

The  overture  ofTItaliana  is  charming,  but  it  is  too  frivolous;  and 
that,  indeed,  is  a  great  fault! 

The  introduction  is  admirable;  it  is  a  true  and  profound  portrait  of 
the  sorrows  of  a  woman  abandoned.  The  aria  which  underlines  this 
mood, 

II  mio  sposo  nonpiii  m'ama  ...*/ 

is  delightful,  and  the  sorrow  is  sorrow  without  a  hint  of  tragedy. 
However,  before  we  go  any  further,  let  us  stop  an  instant  and  con- 

1  My  husband  no  longer  loves  me  ... 


L'ITALIANA  IN  ALGERI  69 

sider;  for  these  few  words  imply,  without  any  qualification,  perfection 
in  the  style  of  the  opera  buff  a.  No  other  living  composer  has  earned 
this  praise;  and  even  Rossini  was  soon  to  cease  to  covet  it.  When  he 
composed  Vltaliana  in  Algeri,  he  was  in  the  full  flower  of  his  youth 
and  genius;  he  was  not  afraid  to  repeat  himself;  he  felt  no  urge  to 
create  powerful  music;  his  home  was  the  delightful  province  of 
Venetia,  the  gayest  land  in  all  Italy,  if  not  in  all  the  world,  and 
assuredly  the  least  tainted  with  pedantry.  The  glittering  reflection  of 
the  Venetian  character  falls  across  the  texture  of  Venetian  music;1 
and  musical  Venice,  rating  lightness  of  heart  above  depth  of  passion, 
looks  first  and  foremost  for  songs  which  entrance  the  ear.  In 
Vltaliana,  the  prayers  of  the  people  of  Venice  were  abundantly 
granted;  no  race  did  ever  witness  an  entertainment  better  suited  to 
its  own  character;  and,  of  all  the  operas  which  were  ever  composed, 
none  was  more  truly  destined  to  be  the  joy  and  delight  of  Venice. 

Thus  it  came  about  that,  travelling  through  the  province  of 
Venetia  in  the  year  1817, 1  found  ritaliana  being  performed  simul 
taneously  in  Brescia,  in  Verona,  in  Venice  itself,  in  Vicenza  and  in 
Treviso. 

It  must  be  confessed  that,  in  not  a  few  of  these  towns,  (in  Vicenza, 
for  example),  the  music  was  performed  by  singers  who  would  have 
been  honourably  flattered  by  comparison  with  the  least  distinguished 
among  our  own;  but  for  all  that,  there  was  a  thrill,  a  verve,  a  brio  in 
their  performance,  a  sweeping  excitement  over  all,  the  like  of  which 
is  not  encountered  in  any  opera-house  beneath  our  cold  and  reason 
able  skies.  I  used  to  observe  how,  from  the  very  opening  of  the  first 
act,  at  the  earliest,  slightest  burst  of  applause,  a  kind  of  musical 
frenzy  would  take  hold  of  orchestra  and  audience  alike,  sweeping 
one  and  all  away  in  waves  of  uncontrollable  delight.  I  too  partici 
pated  in  this  strange  delirium,  which  could  fire  a  blaze  of  joy  in  a 
third-rate  theatre  where  the  highest  attainment  was  unqualified 
mediocrity.  How  it  came  about,  I  cannot  explain.  Yet  this  enchanting 

1  Schiller,  IB  a  novel  entitled  der  Geisterseher:  aus  den  Papier  en  des  Graf  en 
von  p  ...,  gives  us  a  sketch  of  the  Venetian  character  of  unrivalled  charm  and 
brilliance.  Here  is  a  problem  worthy  of  the  most  serious  philosophic  enquiry:  the 
gayest  nation  in  Europe,  the  happiest,  the  least  constrained,  is  that  whose  written 
constitution  is  the  most  abominable!  (Vide:  rHistoire  de  Venise,  by  M.  para: 
Constitutions  of  the  State  Inquisition.)  The  gloomiest  city  in  the  world  is  un 
doubtedly  Boston — precisely  that  where  the  political  state  is  all  but  perfect. 
Could  it  be  that  Religion  is  the  key  to  the  enigma? 


70  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

opera  held  no  hint  to  evoke  the  reality  or  the  sadness  of  life;  and 
most  assuredly  there  was  not  in  all  the  audience  a  single  head  which 
held  a  notion  of  submitting  sensual  delight  to  the  test  of  critical 
judgment.  The  singing,  the  decor,  the  liveliness  of  the  orchestra,  the 
perpetual  improvising  of  the  actors — there  was  nothing  in  all  this  to 
chain  or  fetter  the  spectator's  imagination,  which,  at  the  slightest 
touch  of  encouragement  from  within,  could  start  away  into  a  world 
far  removed  from  our  own,  and  gay  as  our  world  is  not.  But  all  this 
has  to  be  witnessed  in  the  flesh,  and  acquires  nothing  in  the  telling 
save  an  ill-seeming  flatness. 

On  these  occasions,  the  music  would  seem  to  transport  us  bodily 
into  its  most  frenzied  realms  of  fantasy.  The  performers,  encouraged 
and  inspired  by  the  uncontrolled  outbursts  of  applause  and  by  the 
cheering  of  the  audience,  would  dare  feats  of  virtuosity  which,  I  am 
certain,  they  would  never  have  dreamed  of  attempting  at  the  next 
performance.  I  have  heard  that  exquisite  buffo,  Paccini,  who  used  to 
play  messer  Taddeo  at  the  teatro  San-Benedetto  in  Venice,  confess 
privately  at  the  end  of  an  evening  of  wild  success  and  wilder  frenzy, 
that,  compared  with  such  a  performance,  the  most  exquisite  banquet, 
the  sweetest  delights  of  an  excursion  by  gondola,  all  the  most  bril 
liant,  the  gayest  experiences  in  the  world,  were  as  nothing,  as  dust  in 
the  mouth! 

Following  the  plaintive  song  of  poor  Elvira,  abandoned  by  the 
Bey,  I  know  nothing  compounded  of  more  brilliance  and  less  cruelty, 
nothing  more  expressive  and  (in  Italy)  more  natural  than  Mustafa's 
song: 

Car  a,  rrfhai  rotto  il  timpano  ....1 

To  the  life,  this  is  a  portrait  of  a  lover  tired  of  his  mistress;  and  yet  it 
is  all  without  malice,  and  self-respect  is  spared  the  indignity  of 
humiliation. 

Observe  that  here,  as  indeed  everywhere,  I  am  concerned  with  the 
music,  never  with  the  words,  which,  to  tell  the  truth,  I  do  not  know. 
It  is  my  invariable  habit  to  rewrite  the  words  of  any  opera  for  my 
own  satisfaction.  I  take  the  plot  which  the  librettist  has  invented,  and 
I  require  further  from  him  one  word,  and  one  only,  to  give  me  the  key 
to  the  mood  of  the  scene.  For  example,  I  take  Mustafa  to  be  a  man 

1  My  dear,  you've  broken  my  ear-drums  ... 


L'ITALIANA  IN  ALGERI  71 

who  is  bored  with  his  mistress  and  his  own  greatness,  and  yet,  being 
a  sovereign,  not  devoid  of  vanity.  Now,  it  is  not  improbable  that,  if  I 
were  to  follow  the  dialogue  as  a  whole,  this  general  impression  would 
be  ruined.  So  what  is  the  remedy?  Ideally,  of  course,  the  answer 
would  be  to  have  had  Voltaire  or  Beaumarchais  compose  the 
libretto',  in  which  case  it  would  be  as  delightful  as  the  music,  and 
never  a  breath  of  disenchantment  in  the  reading  of  it!  But  happily 
(since  Voltaires  are  rare  in  our  imperfect  world),  the  delightful  art 
which  is  our  present  study  can  well  continue  without  the  services  of  a 
great  poet ...  provided  always  that  one  avoids  the  sinful  indiscretion 
of  reading  the  libretto.  At  Vicenza,  I  observed  that,  on  the  first  night, 
it  was  customary  to  skim  through  it  just  sufficiently  to  gain  some 
notion  of  the  plot,  glancing,  as  each  new  episode  opened,  at  the  first 
line,  just  so  as  to  appreciate  the  emotion,  or  the  shade  of  emotion, 
which  the  music  was  supposed  to  suggest.  But  not  once,  during  all  the 
forty  performances  which  came  after,  did  it  occur  to  one  single 
member  of  the  audience  to  open  that  slim  little  volume  with  its  gilt- 
paper  binding. 

Still  more  apprehensive  of  the  disagreeable  impression  which  might 
be  gleaned  from  the  libretto,  Signora  B***,  in  Venice,  used  to  refuse 
to  allow  anybody  at  all  to  bring  it  into  her  box,  even  at  the  premiere. 
She  used  to  get  someone  to  prepare  her  a  summary  of  the  plot,  some 
forty  lines  in  all;  and  then,  during  the  performance,  she  would  be 
informed,  in  four  or  five  words,  of  the  theme  of  each  aria,  duet  or 
ensemble,  which  had  previously  been  numbered  1,  2,  3,  4  ...  etc.,  as 
each  item  was  introduced  in  the  performance;  for  instance,  simply: 
Ser  Taddeo  is  jealous;  Lindoro  is  passionately  in  love;  Isabella  is 
flirting  with  the  Bey,  etc. — this  condensed  summary  being  followed 
by  the  first  line  of  the  aria  or  duet  which  happened  to  be  in  question. 
I  observed  that  everyone  approved  of  this  procedure,  and  thought  it 
most  suitable.  In  such  a  fashion  should  all  libretti  be  printed  for 
those — to  tell  the  truth,  I  hardly  know  how  to  find  an  epithet  which 
does  not  merely  appear  conceited! — for  those  who  appreciate  music 
as  music  is  appreciated  in  Venice. 

The  cavatina  sung  by  Lindoro,  the  favoured  lover  in  ritaliana  in 
Algeri, 

Languir  per  una  bella  ...j1 
•  *  To  languish  for  a  beautiful  woman  ... 


72  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

is  perfect  in  its  simple  originality;  the  effect  is  powerful  while  the 
music  remains  uncomplicated.  This  cavatina  is  one  of  the  finest  things 
that  Rossini  has  ever  composed  for  a  pure  tenor  voice.  I  shall  never 
forget  the  impression  which  Davide,  the  greatest,  or  rather  the  only 
true  tenor  of  our  generation,  produced  in  his  rendering  of  the  part. 
It  was  one  of  the  noblest  triumphs  of  the  art  of  music.  The  audience, 
carried  away  by  the  provocative  gracefulness  of  this  elegant,  pure 
and  full-toned  voice,  grew  mindless  of  all  else  in  the  world.  The  great 
advantage  of  this  cavatina  is  that  it  is  not  too  richly  imbued  with 
passion;  it  is  not  over-dramatic.  We  are  still  in  the  opening  scenes; 
undistracted  by  the  more  or  less  intricate  complexities  of  the  plot, 
we  can  surrender  whole-heartedly  to  the  tide  of  delight  which  sweeps 
over  us.  It  is  the  most  physical  music  that  I  know. 

This  delicious  instant  is  renewed  a  moment  later;  but,  of  necessity, 
even  though  the  pleasure  set  before  us  for  our  delectation  be  not  a 
wit  inferior  in  quality,  its  effect  will  be  less  intense.  The  duet  between 
Lindoro  and  Mustafa, 

Se  inclinassi  aprender  moglie  ...,1 

is  as  charming  as  the  cavatina,  but  already  there  is  a  hint  of  some 
thing  new,  a  suggestion  of  something  more  serious,  more  dramatic. 
Lindoro  protests  against  having  to  accept  the  wife  whom  the  Bey  is 
attempting  to  thrust  upon  him.  Our  grave  and  weighty  critics  in  the 
Journal  des  Debats  have  given  it  as  their  considered  opinion  that  the 
whole  plot  from  beginning  to  end  is  an  insult  to  the  rational  faculties 
of  man — not  realizing,  poor  fools  that  they  are,  that  if  it  were  other 
wise,  it  would  be  totally  unsuited  to  this  type  of  music,  which  is 
indeed  but  un-reason  organized  and  perfected.2  If  these,  our  worthy 
men  of  letters,  insist  upon  right  reason  and  deep  passion,  let  them 
turn  to  Mozart.  In  genuine  opera  buffa,  passion  is  permitted  to 
intrude  only  now  and  again;  its  function,  as  it  were,  is  to  give  us 
respite  from  too  much  hilarity;  and  at  such  moments,  let  me  add  in 
passing,  a  skilful  portrait  of  one  of  the  tenderer  emotions  becomes 
well-nigh  irresistible,  combining  as  it  must  the  charm  of  the  un 
expected  and  the  fascination  of  contrast.  For  it  is  a  characteristic  of 
good  opera,  that  no  passion  can  leave  us  with  a  mere  half-impression; 

1  If  you  should  feel  inclined  to  take  a  wife  ... 

2  Cf.  Metastasio,  who  aims  to  create  a  similar  impression  in  the  serious  drama. 
Vide:  Vies  de  Haydn,  de  Mozart  et  de  Metastase,  p.  374. 


L'ITALIANA  IN  ALGERI  73 

and  so,  if  the  outpouring  of  emotion  were  uninterrupted,  it  would 
preoccupy  us  to  the  point  of  exhaustion — and  then,  farewell  for  ever 
to  the  extravagant  delights  of  the  opera  buffa. 
Mustafa's  reply  to  Lindoro, 

Son  due  stelle  .../ 

in  which  he  insists  that  the  woman  he  is  to  love  should  have  exquisite 
eyes,  is  a  riot  of  laughter.  Lindoro's  reflection: 

D'ogniparte  io  qui  m'inciampo  ...,2 

is  the  finest  music  every  written;  no  other  composer  could  have 
breathed  such  freshness  into  his  melody.  However,  Mustafa's 
rejoinder, 

Caro  amico,  non  c'e  scamp o  ...,3 

shews  the  first,  faintest  trace  of  Rossini's  most  serious  musical  defect. 
The  part  which  Mustafa  has  to  sing  is  scored  for  clarinet ;  it  achieves 
nothing  more  than  a  broken  succession  of  chords,  contrived  solely  to 
bring  out  the  glittering  splendour  of  the  wonderful  cantilena  held  by 
the  tenor.  Cimarosa  understood  the  art  of  making  this  type  of 
second-voice  delightful  to  listen  to,  if  by  any  remote  chance  the 
listener's  attention  should  so  far  wander  as  to  give  a  moment's 
thought  to  it.  But  in  this  instance,  when  at  last,  after  the  fourth  or 
fifth  performance,  the  poor  listener  remembers  to  be  curious  about 
the  second-voice  (Mustafa),  he  is  confronted  by  the  most  banal 
scoring  imaginable — orchestral  scoring — and  his  delight,  in  conse 
quence,  withers.  As  I  record  this  defect  in  Rossini's  music,  my  regret 
is  as  poignant  as  that  which  I  might  feel  if  I  were  to  observe,  upon  the 
fair  features  of  a  girl  of  eighteen,  that  tiniest  fold  in  the  skin  beside 
the  eye,  which,  ten  years  from  now,  will  grow  into  an  anxious 
furrow. 

In  this  duet,  Rossini  betrays  the  first  symptoms  of  that  fatal  com 
plaint  (whether  of  idleness  or  self-mistrust)  which  eventually  was  to 
drive  him  to  write  music  for  the  concert-platform  instead  of  music 
for  the  drama. 

Isabella's  aria 

1  (Her  eyes  are)  two  stars  ... 

2  I  here  meet  with,  people  from  all  parts  of  the  world  ... 
8  My  dear  friend,  there's  no  way  out ... 

LR  D 


74  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

Cruda  sorte!  amor  tiranno  ...^ 

is  flat  and  uninspired;  by  contrast,  however,  no  praise  is  too  super 
lative  for  the  famous  duet 

Ai  capricd  della  sorte  ...? 

The  music  of  this  passage  seems  to  be  framed  in  a  pattern  of  grace 
and  elegance  which  is  without  parallel  in  Cimarosa;  and  it  is  this 
simple,  noble  gracefulness  which  makes  Rossini  the  composer  par 
excellence  for  a  French  audience.  This  particular  and  original 
quality,  which  is  something  quite  new  in  the  history  of  music,  springs 
perhaps  from  the  fact  that  there  is  less  passion  in  this  duet  than  there 
would  have  been  if  Cimarosa  had  been  the  composer.  The  transition 
passage 

MesserTaddeo  ... 

Rideilbabbeo  ...,3 

is  a  thing  of  unqualified  delight! 

Following  hard  upon  such  a  storm  of  extravagance  and  absurdity, 
it  was  essential  to  allow  the  audience  some  respite;  and  in  this,  the 
libretto  is  well-devised,  affording  as  it  does  two  whole  scenes  of  reci 
tative  for  us  to  wipe  away  the  tears  which  wild  tempests  of  laughter 
had  brought  to  our  eyes. 

There  is  likewise  a  wonderful  moment  of  respite  in  the  great  scene 
where  the  Bey  Mustafa  welcomes  Isabella;  it  is  provided  by  the 
chorus  singing 

Oh!  che  rara  belta!* 

It  was  a  stroke  of  genius  to  include  a  fleeting  instant  of  church-music 
in  an  opera  buffa;  but  Rossini,  terrified  of  boring  his  audience,  made 
it  exceedingly  short. 
The  cantilena 

Maltrattata  dalla  sorte  ...,5 

is  a  masterpiece  of  coquetry;  to  the  best  of  my  belief,  this  was  the 
first  time  that  coquetry  had  ever  been  depicted  on  the  Italian  stage 
in  its  true  colours.  Cimarosa  has  a  tendency  to  make  his  coquettes 
speak  with  a  trace  of  the  accent  of  true  love,  and  that,  perhaps,  is  the 

1  O  cruel  fate!  Tyrannous  love  ...  2  To  the  caprices  of  fate  ... 

8  "Messer  Taddeo  ...",  laughs  the  simpleton  ... 

4  Oh!  What  rare  beauty!  6  Hi-treated  by  fate  ... 


L'ITALIANA  IN  ALGERI  75 

only  weakness  of  which  that  great  composer  may  be  held  guilty  in  all 
his  skilled  portrait  of  the  feminine  heart.  Isabella's  aria  had  to 
contain,  at  one  and  the  same  time,  enough  of  love  to  deceive  her 
unhappy  victim,  and  enough  of  mockery  to  amuse  the  audience. 

The  quartet  with  Taddeo,  in  the  finale  of  the  first  act,  is  excellent. 
Mark  particularly  the  comic  thrust: 

Ah!  chi  sa  mat,  TaddeoT- 

Here  we  have  indeed  an  exquisite  demonstration  of  the  achievement 
of  the  opera  buffa,  the  perfection  of  comedy  realized  through  the 
medium  of  music — and  Rossini  sweeps  his  paint  on  to  his  canvas 
with  strokes  as  broad  as  can  be  imagined! 

And  when,  at  that  very  instant,  Lindoro  appears,  together  with  the 
poor,  deserted  woman  and  her  companion,  never  was  there  a  song  of 
greater  delicacy  and  contrasting  freshness  than: 

Pria  di  divider ci  da  vof,  signore  ...  !2 

The  contrast  is  admirable,  and  the  total  effect,  with  its  movement  and 
its  sweeping  enchantment,  one  which  Mozart  and  Cimarosa  might 
well  have  envied! 

It  is  my  belief  that  the  greatest  fools  in  Christendom  may  legiti 
mately  grudge  our  worthy  literary  critics  the  crass  ineptitudes  which 
they  have  perpetrated  with  regard  to  the  latter  part  of  this  finale  \ 
Admittedly  (and  why  deny  it?)  the  Bey  does  say: 


Come  scoppio  di  cannone 
La  mia  testa  fa  bumbum  . 


and,  further,  Taddeo  does  express  himself  in  the  words: 

Sono  come  una  cornacchia 
Che  spennatafa  era,  crd  ....4 

But  did  these  miserable,  benighted  creatures  never  consider  that, 
even  if  Marmontel  or  M.  Etienne  had  written,  expressly  for  this 
finale,  ten  or  a  dozen  lines  each,  of  unsurpassed  exquisiteness,  deM- 

1  Ah!  Taddeo,  who  ever  knows?         2  Before  we  part  from  you,  my  lord  ... 
8  Like  the  explosion  of  a  cannon,  my  head  goes  boom!  boom! 
4  /  am  like  a  rook  which  has  lost  its  feathers  and  goes  caw !  caw ! 
To  have  criticized  the  opera  on  the  evidence  of  these  lines  reveals  a  level  of 
intelligence  in  the  critic  equal  to  that  betrayed  by  the  librettist! 


76  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

cacy  and  charm,  this  contribution  in  itself  would  have  done  nothing 
to  help  the  music,  which,  in  all  probability,  would  have  been  no 
worthier  than  some  tinny  tune  by  Dalayrac  or  Mondonville?  It  is  as 
though  a  critic  of  Raphael's  Transfiguration  were  to  be  at  pains  to 
applaud,  above  all  else,  the  care  which  the  artist  took  to  paint  his 
pictures  on  the  very  finest,  first-quality  Dutch  canvas ! 

In  Venice,  where  ibis  finale  was  sung  by  Paccini,  Galli  and  Madame 
Marcolini,  the  audience,  by  the  end,  were  struggling  and  gasping  for 
breath,  and  wiping  the  tears  from  their  eyes. 

And  the  impression  created,  moreover,  is  precisely  that  which 
persons  of  discerning  taste  expect  from  an  opera  buffa;  the  whole 
effect  is  extremely  powerful;  therefore  the  work  is  a  masterpiece.  This 
is  a  plain,  straightforward  argument,  and  neither  in  Venice  nor  in 
Vicenza  was  one  obliged  to  stoop  to  hair-splitting  quibbles  over  its 
details;  through  the  gales  of  laughter,  the  audience  rose  unani 
mously  to  its  feet  and  cheered:  Sublime!  Divine! 

The  outstanding  characteristic  of  this  wonderful  work  is  its  speed, 
its  extreme  economy  and  its  lack  of  turgidity.  It  is  just  not  possible  to 
say  more  with  such  limited  vocabulary — but  how  on  earth  are  you  to 
start  explaining  this  to  fools  who  understand  nothing  but  the 
libretto*!  Rousseau  undertook  to  supply  the  answer.  At  one  point  in 
his  works,  we  find  the  following  phrase,  written  in  Italian:  Zanetto, 
lascia  le  dome,  e  studia  la  matematica!1 


ACT  TWO 

I  know  nothing  more  exciting  than  the  entry  of  Taddeo  in  the 
second  act: 

Ah!  signor  Mustafa!* 

The  librettist  shows  some  skill  at  this  point;  a  powerful  situation  is 
created,  sketched  in  a  few  words,  and  set  out  with  great  clarity  and 
superb  comic  effect.  It  would  be  hard  to  discover  a  scene  of  greater 
liveliness  and  gaiety  than  the  aria  and  pantomime  of 

Viva  il  gran  Kaimakan!* 

1  Poor  Jack!  Forget  about  women  and  study  mathematics!  (Les  Confessions). 

2  Ah!  My  lord  Mustafa!  3  Long  live  the  great  Kaimakan! 


L'ITALIANA  IN  ALGERI  77 

However,  if  this  effect  is  to  succeed,  it  requires  the  essential  courage 
to  exploit  the  pantomime — and  this  is  precisely  what  was  not  done  in 
Paris!  The  scene  could  hardly  be  less  offensive,  but  ...  dignity, 
dignity  at  all  costs  ! 
The  end  of  the  aria 

Qua  bisognafar  il  conto  ...1 

is  worthy  of  Cimarosa  in  his  most  perfect  mood  of  farcical  inventive 
ness,  and  yet  the  style  is  utterly  different— more  wit  and  less  passion. 
I  enjoin  upon  you  a  most  careful  study,  both  of  the  cantilena 
itself,  and  of  the  accompaniment,  in  the  passage  where  the  wretched 
Taddeo,  reduced  to  the  dire  extremity  of  making  a  choice  between 
impalement  and  the  sacrifice  of  his  love  for  Isabella,  proceeds  to 
reason  out  the  pros  and  cons.  The  setting  of  the  words 

Se  ricuso  ...  ilpalo  e pronto, 
E  se  accetto  ...  e  mio  do v ere 
Diportargli  il  candeliere*; 
Kaimakan,  signore,  io  restof* 

is  admirable.  An  achievement  of  this  character  is  the  prerogative  of 
genius  alone;  study,  labour  and  conscientious  application  to  duty, 
far  from  providing  inspiration,  merely  stunt  and  baulk  the  com 
poser's  imagination;  this  is  one  of  those  triumphs  undreamed-of  in 
the  German  school! 

There  was  only  one  method  by  which  an  aria  of  such  stupendous 
gaiety  could  fittingly  be  brought  to  a  close;  the  rule,  in  fact,  could 
have  been  found  in  any  arspoetica,  for  the  dullest  and  most  banal  of 
composers  to  read  and  obey:  what  is  required  is  a  sudden  lapse  into 
a  vein  of  sadness.  But  here  is  the  problem:  how  is  the  composer  to 
create  an  atmosphere  of  profound  sadness,  and  at  the  same  time 
maintain  his  tone  of  complete  simplicity,  and  all  this — prime  neces 
sity  of  all — without  losing  speedl  Rossini  found  the  answer  with  the 
sublime  (and  apparently  elementary)  phrase: 

Ah  Taddeo!  quanf  era  meglio 
Che  tu  andassi  infondo  al  mar!z 

1  Now  is  the  time  to  tot  up  the  account ... 

2  If  I  refuse,  the  impaling-stake  is  ready;  and  if  I  accept,  it  is  my  duty  to  bear 
him  the  candlestick;  my  lord  Kaimakan,  I  accept! 

3  Ah  Taddeo !  How  much  better  it  would  have  been  if  you  had  gone  to  the 
bottom  of  the  sea! 


78  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

No  one  who  has  ever  been  at  Court  can  miss  the  point  of  these 
artificial  congratulations  showered  with  studied  politeness  upon  one 
to  whom  official  advancement  has  brought  nothing  but  despair;  the 
situation  is  a  most  eloquent  portrait  of  the  absurdest  dilemmas  which 
arise  in  that  strange  society.  The  impression  which  the  scene  creates 
is  so  moving  that  there  are  days  when  one  pities  Taddeo,  for  all  the 
absurdity  of  his  role  as  the  rejected  lover. 

Following  upon  an  aria  and  a  chorus  so  rich  in  pure  comedy,  a 
longish  period  of  respite  was  essential,  and  this  is  provided  with  great 
ingenuity  by  the  librettist. 

Isabella's  ana: 

Per  lui  che  adoro  ..-,1 

was  intended  once  again  to  depict  a  nuance  of  coquetry;  but  on  this 
occasion,  Rossini  was  less  successful  than  in  the  duet  from  Act  I. 
Isabella's  roulades,  elegant  and  repetitive,  produce  no  response  in  the 
listener's  imagination  save  one  of  stony  indifference.  The  primary 
musical  material  is  so  poor  that  no  one  can  fail  to  be  aware  that  all 
this  embroidery  is  strewn  upon  it  merely  in  order  to  disguise  its 
inherent  worthlessness,  rather  than  to  enrich  its  splendour  and 
enhance  the  magnificence  of  its  effect. 
However,  Rossini  fully  recaptures  his  inspiration  in  the  quintet 

Tipresento  di  mia  mono 
Ser  Taddeo  Kaimakan  . . ..2 

This  passage  is  perhaps  the  crowning  achievement  of  the  whole 
opera.  Every  note  of  the  music  is  pre-eminently  dramatic.  Nothing 
could  be  more  provocatively  gay,  nor,  at  the  same  time,  truer  to 
nature,  than  Isabella's  thrust: 

//  tuo  muso  efatto  apposta  ...;3 
nothing  could  be  more  coquettish,  more  deceitful,  than  the  line : 

Aggradisco,  o  mio  signore  ....4 
Poor  Mustafa  with  Ms  importunate  sneezing  succeeded  in  moving 

1  For  the  sake  of  Mm  whom  I  adore  ... 

2  I  present  to  you  from  my  hand,  Ser  Taddeo,  Kalmakan  ... 
8  Your  snout  was  made  on  purpose  ... 

4  I  accept,  O  my  lord  ... 


L'ITALIANA  IN  ALGERI  79 

even  the  Parisian  audiences  to  laughter.  The  stubborn  obstinacy 
of  a  fool  set  on  his  high  horse  is  admirably  characterized  in  the 
lines: 

CKei  starnutifin  che  scoppta, 
Non  mi  movo  via  di  qua!'1 

and  then,  just  as  one  is  about  to  feel  the  first  warnings  that  too  much 
laughter  and  unmitigated  farce  might  in  the  end  become  boring, 
Rossini  gives  us  the  delightful  phrase : 

Di  due  sciocchi  uniti  insieme  ...,2 

to  bring  rest  and  refreshment  to  the  listener's  exhausted  mind.  But, 
at  the  very  end,  poor  Mustafa's  song, 

Tupur  miprende  a  gioco  ...,3 

is  weak  and  platitudinous,  the  music  consisting  of  nothing  but  dull, 
broken  sequences  scored  for  clarinet;  this  is  school-boy  stuff,  and 
written  by  an  idle  pupil  at  that! 

However,  to  restore  the  balance,  the  trio  round  the  mysterious 
word  papataci  is  both  brilliant  and  powerful;  the  contrast  between 
the  tenor  part  of  Lindoro  and  the  basso-profundo  of  Mustafa: 

Che  vuol  poi  significar? 

...A  color  che  mainon  sanno  ...,4 

is  a  pure  delight  to  listen  to — and  moreover,  provides  a  perfect 
instance  of  a  fine  operatic  effect  which  is  completely  independent  of 
the  libretto,  and  which,  in  consequence,  must  be  completely  invisible 
to  those  who  insist  upon  approaching  vocal  music  exclusively 
through  the' medium  of  the  words. 
The  end  of  the  trio: 

FrdL  gramori  e  le  bellezze  ...,5 

is  a  triumph  of  merriment  and  verve;  yet,  in  the  middle  of  this  un 
paralleled  deluge  of  farce  and  comedy,  there  intrudes  one  instant  of 

1  He  can  sneeze  till  he  bursts,  I'm  not  moving  from  here! 

2  Of  two  fools  united  together  ...    8  You  too  are  playing  the  fool  with  me  ... 

4  What  do  you  want  it  to  mean  then  ...? 
...  to  those  who  never  know  ... 

5  Amidst  loves  and  beauties  ... 


80  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

nobility,  of  delicacy,  almost  of  tenderness,  which  affords  the  most 
brilliant  of  contrasts : 

Se  mat  torno  a  mieipaesi  ...,1 

The  scene  of  the  oath-taking  is,  if  anything,  finer  still;  in  the  Parisian 
production,  it  was  cut  out  altogether,  and  one  would  really  like  to 
know  why!  Was  it  envy?  Or  is  the  reason  to  be  sought  in  a  principle 
enunciated  on  one  occasion  by  one  of  the  directors  of  the  Theatre 
Louvois,  in  course  of  a  conversation  with  certain  dilettanti: 

I  would  have  it  clearly  understood,  gentlemen,  that  our  theatre  is  not 
a  fair-ground  show-booth,  to  be  used  for  the  antics  of  clowns  and 
jugglers! 

I  decline  to  proceed  with  the  discussion  of  this  insignificant 
mystery;  if  there  exist  people  who  cannot  understand  how  to  get  their 
true  money's-worth  of  entertainment,  so  much  the  worse  for  them. 
All  the  same,  these  identical  people  are  never  short  of  a  fine  phrase  to 
eulogize  the  superior  excellence  of  the  theatre  which,  every  evening, 
enjoys  the  privilege  of  opening  its  doors  to  them.  In  the  whole  of 
Italy,  they  assure  each  other  fervently,  you  would  never  find  anything 
comparable  to  this!  Who  am  /,  to  spoil  their  beatitude?  It  is  so  naive, 
so  innocent!  It  happened  on  one  occasion  that  I  found  myself  at 
table,  confronted  by  a  straggly  bunch  or  two  of  mean,  green  and 
sourish  grapes,  served  up  ceremoniously  at  dessert  in  the  dining-hall 
of  a  noble  castle  near  Edinburgh.  What  was  the  point  in  seeming 
ungrateful?  It  would  surely  have  betrayed  nothing  but  the  grossest 
ill-breeding  on  my  part,  to  have  disillusioned  the  wealthy  epicure 
who  was  my  host,  and  who,  at  huge  expense,  had  introduced  these 
grapes  into  his  enormous  hot-houses.  The  worthy  individual  had 
never  known  the  great  grapes  of  Fontainebleau,  the  famous  chas- 
selas;  and  his  powers  of  intellect  had  needed  to  be  far  more  developed 
than  is  usually  befitting  to  millionaire  hot-house-owners  before  he 
could  have  grasped  the  purely  abstract  notion  that,  in  lands  where  the 
vine  grows  freely  in  the  open  air,  there  may  be  grapes  which  are 
better  and  tastier  than  those  which  are  cultivated  with  such  trouble 
and  expense  in  artificial  forcing-houses.  Had  I  spoken  my  mind,  I 
should  have  seemed  just  as  absurd  as  some  eccentric  gardener 
returned  from  a  far  country  with  his  head  all  stuffed  with  new 
1  If  ever  I  should  come  home  again  to  my  own  land  ... 


L'ITALIANA  IN  ALGERI  81 

methods  of  gardening;  he  propounds  the  schemes — but  there  is  no 
one  but  himself  to  answer  for  their  excellence! 

The  extreme  docility  of  the  audiences  who  patronize  the  Theatre 
Louvois,  and  who  have  not  the  necessary  minimum  of  moral  courage 
to  demand  their  Rossini  ww-mutilated,  is  the  more  exemplary,  in  that 
there  exists  surely  somewhere  an  official  statute  expressly  forbidding 
all  cuts  in  any  work  performed  in  the  Royal  Theatres.  And  in  any 
case,  statutes  or  no  statutes,  it  is  to  be  conceived  that  an  artist  of  the 
stature  and  reputation  of  Rossini,  who,  by  general  admission,  is  a 
man  of  some  considerable  talent,  may  claim  the  right  to  see  his  works 
performed  at  least  once  as  they  were  written,  instead  of  chopped  up 
into  unrecognizable  little  bits  and  pieces!  But  in  that  case,  what 
would  happen  to  our  worthy  friend  the  "arranger",  his  office  and  his 
valuable  privileges?  Let  us  leave  this  amenable  public  to  its  self- 
congratulatory  smirks  and  its  good  manners,  still  preening  itself 
over  its  much-vaunted  right  (which,  imperceptibly,  has  been  taken 
away  from  it)  to  whistle  long  and  loud  whenever  it  disapproves,  for 
in  all  conscience,  it  shows  little  enough  discretion  in  the  exercise  of  its 
right  to  applaudl  Yesterday  (June  1823),  I  watched  four  French 
actresses  performing  together  in  an  Italian  opera,  le  Nozze  di  Figaro. 
What  a  triumph,  what  a  flattering  instant  of  glory  of  our  National 
Honour  \  National  Honour  did  indeed  applaud  wildly,  voicing  the 
enthusiasm  of  its  manifold  delights — amongst  which,  surely,  the 
pleasure  of  variety  must  rank  extremely  high,  since  every  one  of  the 
four  good  ladies  had  sung  sharp,  each  in  her  own  style  and  indi 
vidual  manner!  But  these  are  mere  peccadilloes,  of  which  our 
liberal  press  dare  not  take  cognizance,  for  fear  of  jeopardizing  its 
popularity! 

Genius,  in  the  Italiana  in  Algeri,  has  its  final  fling  with  a  magni 
ficent  trio — which  was  deemed  to  be  "too  frivolous"  for  the  taste  of 
the  Parisian  audiences.  The  final  aria  is  two  things  at  once;  firstly,  it  is 
a  tour  deforce,  to  the  eternal  glory  of  Signora  Marcolini— where  else 
would  you  hope  to  find  a  prfma-donna  with  enough  strength  in  her 
lungs  to  master  so  mighty  an  aria,  with  all  its  fantastic  wealth  of 
decoration,  at  the  very  end  of  so  exhausting  an  opera?  This  is  in  fact 
one  of  the  problems  which  causes  a  certain  amount  of  anxiety  in 
Italy,  and  sometimes  mitigates  against  the  Italiana  in  performance; 
no  such  anxieties,  however,  ruffle  the  smooth,  untroubled  brow  of 


82  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

the  management  of  the  Theatre  Louvois,  and  Signorina  Naldi  dealt 
with  this  aria  precisely  as  she  had  dealt  with  all  the  rest! 

Secondly,  this  aria  is  remarkable  for  its  historical  content  and 
implications.  You  may  rightly  wonder  exactly  what  "historical 
implications"  are  liable  to  be  encountered  in  the  finale  of  an  opera 
buffa;  but  alas!  gentlemen,  it  is  true!  It  may  be  against  the  rules,  but 
none  the  less  this  outrage,  this  audacity  exists  I 

Pensa  alia  patria,  e  intrepido 
II  tuo  dover  adempi; 
Vediper  tutta  Italia 
Rinascere  gli  esempi 
Di  or  dire  e  di  valor.1 

The  ardour  of  patriotism,  banished  from  the  soil  of  Italy  ever  since 
the  capture  of  Florence  by  the  Medici  in  1530,  under  pain  of  twenty 
years'  imprisonment,  had  only  recently  been  revived  by  Napoleon. 
Rossini  knew  his  audience,  read  into  its  secret  heart,  and  feasted  its 
imagination  on  the  delights  which  it  craved.  None  the  less,  here  as 
elsewhere,  Rossini  is  extremely  careful  not  to  make  too  prolonged  a 
demand  on  the  response  of  any  one  emotion  or  enthusiasm;  with  the 
result  that  the  noble  melody 

Intrepido 

II  tuo  dover  adempi ... 

— a  melody  calculated  to  fetch  forth  everything  which  is  most  noble 
in  the  human  heart — has  scarcely  been  heard  once,  when  he  immedi 
ately  feels  the  need  to  allow  his  audience  to  relax,  and  so  transforms 
his  patriotic  mood  into 

Sciocco  tu  ridi  ancora  ....2 

Then  comes  a  passage  in  which  the  base  ignominy  of  a  certain 
political  party,  which  had  denounced  the  rebirth  of  generosity  in  the 
hidden  heart  of  Italy,  is  castigated  in  the  words: 

Vanne,  mifai  dispetto  ...3 

1  Remember  your  Fatherland,  and  fearlessly  fulfil  your  duty;  behold,  in  every 
corner  of  Italy,  the  rebirth  of  examples  of  daring  and  valour! 

2  Fool,  you  are  still  laughing  ... 

8  Clear  off!  You  arouse  my  contempt ... 


L'ITALIANA  IN  ALGERI  83 

— words  which,  when  the  opera  was  first  produced,  were  invariably 
drowned  in  a  roar  of  applause.  As  against  this,  however,  the  passage 

Rivedrem  le  patrie  arene  . .  .* 

is  gentle  and  musing;  the  language  of  patriotism  is  at  length  overlaid 
with  the  accents  of  a  different,  more  intimate  love. 

And  these  are  the  last  dying  echoes  of  this  most  delightful  opera. 
It  is  a  masterpiece  which  never  fails  to  give  pleasure,  and  it  has  been 
acclaimed  in  every  city  in  Europe  save  in  Paris  (where,  I  am  most 
firmly  convinced,  there  was  high  treason  abroad!)  But  just  try  to 
imagine  Andromaque  performed  at  the  Theatre  Frangais  with  the 
great  clown  Monrose  in  the  role  of  Oreste  ...  yet  the  disparity  is  no 
greater  than  that  between  Signorina  Naldi  and  the  part  of  the  merry- 
mad  Isabella.  So  charming  a  creature  should  confine  her  talents  to 
the  roles  of  Amenaida  or  Juliet,  where  she  may  be  certain  of  pleasing 
our  ears  as  well  as  our  eyes. 

But  all  this,  you  will  accuse  me,  is  much  ado — worse,  much  serious 
ad0 — about  nothing ,  about  a  mere  game,  a  pastime,  an  opera  buffa!  ... 
I  plead  guilty.  The  subject-matter  is  futile,  and  the  dissertation  has 
been  lengthy.  If  a  child  were  to  offer  an  analysis  of  the  art  of  building 
card-castles,  collapsing  at  a  breath  and  yet  towering  two  storeys  high, 
do  you  not  suppose  that  the  learned  exposition  of  such  a  difficult 
matter  would  take  a  little  while  to  complete?  And  furthermore, 
would  you  really  be  so  surprised  to  find  that  a  subject  which,  for  the 
child  concerned,  was  so  fascinating,  so  utterly  absorbing,  should  be 
treated  with  a  good  deal  of  seriousness?  Well  then,  I  am  just  such  a 
child.  Admittedly,  no  discussion  on  the  art  of  music  will  furnish 
clear  and  rational  principles  of  impeccable  logic,  or  even  of  proven 
practical  utility;  but  for  all  that,  if  Heaven  has  granted  you  a  heart  to 
feel  beauty,  you  may  nevertheless  derive  some  pleasure  from  it. 

1  We  shall  again  behold  our  country's  shores  ... 


i 


CHAPTER  IV 
La  Pietra  del  Paragone* 


BELIEVE  that  it  was  Signora  Marcolini  who  caused  Rossini  to  be 
"offered  a  contract"  (scritturare)1  at  Milan  for  the  autumn  season  of 

1  The  scrittura  is  a  little  two-page  agreement,  normally  printed,  which  sets  out 
the  reciprocal  obligations  of  the  composer  or  the  singer  on  the  one  hand,  and  of 
the  impresario  who  engages  them  on  the  other.  Where  first-rate  artists  are  con 
cerned,  innumerable  petty  intrigues  are  liable  to  develop  around  the  scritture, 
which  afford  a  great  deal  of  general  amusement;  I  strongly  advise  the  traveller  in 
Italy  to  look  closely  into  this  special  branch  of  diplomacy;  it  frequently  calls  for 
considerably  more  wit  and  ingenuity  than  the  other  sort!  As  regards  the  technique 
of  this  diplomacy,  we  may  observe  something  in  common  with  the  technique  of 
art;  that  is  to  say,  the  customs  and  traditions  of  the  country  where  art  was  born 
have  freely  intermingled  with  the  pure,  abstract  theory,  and  often  help  to  explain 
many  of  its  peculiarities.  At  any  given  period  of  his  career,  Rossini's  genius  has 
almost  always  betrayed  traces  of  the  influence  of  the  particular  scrittura  which  he 
happened  to  have  signed.  If  only  there  had  been  some  Maecenas,  some  Prince  to 
guarantee  him  a  steady  income  of  3,000  francs  a  year,  Rossini  would  have  then 
been  able  to  sit  and  wait  for  the  breath  of  inspiration  before  taking  up  his  pen  and 
sitting  down  to  compose;  and  this  simple  revolution  would  have  given  a  totally 
different  character  to  every  single  composition  which  his  genius  was  to  produce. 
Our  French  composers,  MM.  Auber,  Boieldieu,  Berton,  etc.,  have  this  advantage, 
and  compose  at  their  leisure,  producing  about  one  opera  a  year;  whereas  Ros 
sini,  in  a  manner  reminiscent  of  the  Golden  Age  of  painting,  wrote  four  or  five 
operas  a  year  throughout  his  youth,  turning  them  out  (as  Guido  Reni  used  to 
turn  out  pictures)  to  pay  the  inn-keeper  and  the  washerwoman.  I  blush  at  the 
necessity  which  forces  me  to  ferret  about  among  such  vulgar  details,  and  I 
entreat  the  reader's  pardon;  but  I  would  remind  him  that  I  am  writing  a  bio 
graphy  ...  and  such  is  the  truth.  Every  art  is  faced  with  the  same  problem;  the 
artist  is  confronted  with  gross  material  indissolubly  rooted  in  vulgarity,  and  it  is 
his  task  to  surmount  it,  even  though  the  coarseness  of  the  details  makes  it  impos 
sible  for  the  powers  of  imagination  to  come  to  the  rescue.  But  it  is  precisely  amid 
such  circumstances  that  Rossini  maintained  his  genius  in  all  its  freshness  and 
vigour;  although  it  is  also  true  that,  since  the  manners  of  modern  Italy  are  a 
product  and  direct  consequence  of  those  which  were  in  vogue  in  the  mediaeval 
republics,  poverty  carries  no  stigma,  and  certainly  not  the  stigma  which  it  carries 
in  monarchic  France,  where  right-seeming  (parestre)  is  everything,  as  the  Baron 
de  F  oeneste  so  accurately  maintains .  t 

If  there  is  one  thing  in  Italy  which  passes  for  a  miracle,  it  is  an  impresario  who 
fails  to  go  bankrupt,  and  who  observes  some  regularity  in  the  payment  of  salaries 
to  his  singers  and  his  composer-conductor.  When  one  observes  closely  what  poor 
devils  these  impresari  in  fact  are,  one  is  truly  moved  to  pity  on  behalf  of  the 
wretched  maestro,  who,  to  live  at  all,  must  wait  upon  the  salary  which  these  ill- 
dressed  persons  are  supposed  to  pay  him!  The  first  idea  which  springs  to  mind  on 
meeting  the  average  Italian  impresario  is  that,  if  ever  he  should  chance  to  set 
eyes  on  a  round  sum  of  twenty  sequins,  he  would  rush  off  to  buy  a  new  set  of 
clothes,  and  disappear  for  good  with  the  change! 


LA  PIETRA  DEL  PARAGONE  85 

the  year  1812.  In  any  case,  it  was  there  that  he  composed  la  Pietra  del 
Paragone  for  the  opera-house  of  la  Scala.  He  was  twenty-one;  and  he 
was  lucky  enough  to  hear  his  music  sung  by  la  Marcolini  and  by 
Galli,  Bonoldi  and  Parlamagni,  all  at  the  height  of  their  powers;  and 
each  one  of  these  artists  was  immensely  successful  in  his  or  her 
respective  part.  The  generosity  of  the  audience  even  embraced  poor 
old  Vasoli,  an  ex-grenadier  from  Napoleon's  Army  of  Egypt,  but 
now  almost  blind,  and,  as  a  singer,  hardly  even  third-rate,  who  made 
his  undying  reputation  in  the  aria:  Ombretta  sdegnosa  del  Missis- 
sipi*  ... 

La  Pietra  del  Paragone  is,  to  my  mind,  Rossini's  masterpiece  of 
unadulterated  opera  buffa.  I  implore  the  reader,  however,  not  to  take 
fright  at  such  extravagant  expressions  of  adulation;  I  have  no  inten 
tion  whatsoever  of  risking  another  analysis  such  as  that  which  I  have 
just  given  ofTItaliana  in  Algeri.  La  Pietra  del  Paragone  is  unknown  in 
Paris;  certain  Very  Clever  Persons  had  the  best  reasons  in  the  world 
for  making  sure  that,  if  it  had  to  appear  there  at  all,  it  should  be 
given  only  in  a  severely  mutilated  version;  consequently  it  fell  flat, 
once  and  for  ever*. 

The  libretto  is  excellent;  once  again  the  situations  are  powerfully 
conceived,  one  following  upon  the  heels  of  the  other  with  breath 
taking  speed;  they  are  worked  out  clearly  and  with  a  minimum  of 
dialogue;  and  such  dialogue  as  there  is,  is  usually  highly  amusing. 
These  various  situations,  however  lively,  however  direct  and  forceful 
their  appeal  to  the  passions,  habits  and  mannerisms  of  the  crowd  of 
characters  involved,  none  the  less  maintain  contact  all  the  time  with 
the  realities  of  life,  and  reflect  the  social  patterns  and  manners  of 
Italy— of  this  happy  land  of  Italy,  which  is  so  fortunate  in  its  inner, 
intimate  life  of  the  heart,  and  so  desperately  unfortunate  in  the  petty 
tyrants  who  rule  over  it.  In  such  a  land,  there  is  no  fairer  test  of  skill 


t  Le Baron  deFceneste:  a  most  curious  novel  by  Agrippa  d'Aubigne,  almost  as 
fascinating  as  the  History  of  his  Life,  written  by  himself.  This  History  paints  the 
portrait  of  Henri  IV  almost  as  faithfully  as  Quentin  Durward  depicts  that  of 
Louis  XI.  I  discovered  there  a  whole  store  of  anecdotes  concerning  Henri  IV, 
none  of  which  I  dare  quote.  There  is  no  question  but  that  this  monarch  was  a 
great  man;  but  he  was  most  certainly  not  a  milk-and-water  saint.  There  are  some 
most  striking  resemblances  between  Henri  IV  and  Napoleon;  and  also  between 
the  Life  of  o?Aubign6  and  the  Mtmoires  of  Las  Cases.  Even  the  motives  are 
identical  in  the  two  cases — except  one:  Henri  IV  adored  women  as  Napoleon 
adored  battles! 


86  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

than  to  create  situations  like  these,  which,  for  all  their  realism  and 
forcefulness,  never  for  a  moment  depict  life  as  a  thing  of  gloom  and 
despondency  tricked  out  with  the  thinnest,  the  most  superficial 
veneer  of  gaiety1,  but  rather  manage  to  interest  the  mind  without 
giving  rise  to  a  single  depressing  reflection.  On  the  other  hand,  how 
ever,  it  would  be  futile  to  expect  from  an  Italian  libretto  any  trace  of 
the  flashing  wit  which  sparkles  and  glitters  in  the  type  of  play  which 
is  put  on  at  the  Theatre  du  Gymnase,  and  which  is  so  brilliantly 
amusing  the  first  time  you  go  to  see  it  (and  occasionally  the  second 
time  too !) 

This  opera  is  entitled  the  Touchstone,  because  it  is  the  tale  of  a 
young  man,  Count  Asdrubale,  recently  heir  to  a  considerable  fortune, 
who  invents  a  test  to  "prove  as  with  a  touchstone"  the  hearts  of  those 
friends,  and  even  mistresses,  who  had  descended  upon  him  at  the 
same  time  as  his  new  wealth.  A  man  of  commoner  clay  would  have 
been  well  satisfied  with  the  concert  of  flattery  and  attention  which 
played  about  Count  Asdrubale;  all  the  world  smiled  upon  him;  yet 
he  could  not  be  happy  in  his  own  heart,  for  that  was  set  upon  the 
Marchesa  Clarice,  a  young  widow,  who,  together  with  a  train  of 
thirty-odd  companions  and  friends,  had  come  to  spend  the  season  of 
the  villegiatura*  at  his  country-house,  situated  near  Rome,  in  the 
centre  of  the  Forest  of  Viterbo;  and  yet — who  could  tell? — it  was 
quite  possible  that  Clarice  herself  loved  nothing  in  him  so  much  as 
his  glittering  wealth  and  his  great  estate. 

Every  traveller  will  recall  the  Forest  of  Viterbo  and  its  magnificent 
scenery.  This  was  the  country  whence  Claude  Lorrain  and  Guaspre 
Poussin  drew  such  a  wealth  of  wonderful  material  for  their  land 
scapes.  The  charm  of  the  decor  makes  a  perfect  background  for  the 
pattern  of  stirring  emotions  which  is  to  be  woven  among  the  various 
characters  staying  in  the  great  mansion.  Count  Asdrubale  has  an 
intimate  friend,  a  young  poet  touchingly  free  of  academic  vanity, 
unversed  in  insincerity  and  affectation,  but  not  unversed  in  the  art 
of  love.  Giocondo — for  such  is  the  name  of  this  wild  young  dreamer 

1  Cf.  Le  Solliciteur,  or  rintfrieur  d'un  Bureau,  which,  by  the  time  one  has  seen 
them  twice,  leave  one  with  a  sense  of  overwhelming  pity  for  the  "heroes".  Yet  the 
plays  named  represent  the  only  real  comedies  of  our  generation.  "Comedy",  as  it 
is  played  at  the  Theatre  Franfais,  is  nothing  better  than  a  Serious  Epistle,  chopped 
up  into  dialogue  and  stuffed  with  moral  maxims.  Cf,  la  Fille  cThonneur,  les  Deux 
Cousines,  les  Come'diens,  etc. 

2  The  country-holiday  season. 


LA  PIETRA  DEL  PARAGONE  87 

— is  also  in  love  with  Clarice.  He  suspects  that  Asdrubale  is  a 
favoured  rival;  whereas  Clarice  for  her  part  conjectures  that,  if  she 
allow  her  love  for  Asdrubale  to  be  seen,  he  may  believe — even  while 
he  accepts  her  hand  in  marriage — that  she  is  not  wholly  averse  to 
claiming  a  share  in  a  noble  fortune,  nor  to  cutting  a  fine  figure  in 
society. 

Among  the  swarm  of  parasites  and  flatterers  of  all  sorts  and  species 
who  swarm  and  buzz  about  the  count's  domain,  the  librettist  has 
given  place  of  honour  to  one  don  Marforio,  the  local  journalist.  In 
France,  there  are  no  finer  intellects  in  all  the  land  than  those  upon 
whom  devolves  the  daily  responsibility  of  addressing  us  through  the 
newspapers;1  but  in  Italy,  the  case  is  very  different.  Don  Marforio, 
an  intriguer,  a  coward,  and  above  all  a  braggart,  spiteful  but  by  no 
means  foolish,  is  responsible  for  the  comic  element  of  the  plot,  in 
conjunction  with  one  don  Pacuvio,  an  implacable  gossip-writer, 
perpetually  burdened  with  secrets  of  unspeakable  importance,  which 
he  insists  on  confiding  to  everyone  in  turn.  The  absurdity  of  such 
characters,  whose  existence  would  be  almost  inconceivable  in  France, 
thanks  to  the  comparative  (if  limited)  freedom  of  the  press  which  we 
enjoy,  is  common  enough  to  meet  with  in  Italy,  where  newspapers  are 
subjected  to  a  censorship  of  intolerable  severity,  and  where  govern 
ments  think  nothing  of  flinging  into  gaol  a  dozen  or  more  poor 
gossips,  whose  only  crime  was  to  have  sat  in  a  coffee-house  bandying 
about  some  insignificant  snippet  of  local  news — nor  of  keeping  them 
there  indefinitely,  until  one  by  one  they  choose  to  confess  the  source 
of  their  criminal  information,  which,  more  often  than  not,  is  nothing 
but  the  dullest  item  of  libellous  invention. 

Don  Pacuvio,  then,  the  gossip-writer,  and  don  Marforio,  the 
journalist,  both  citizens  of  Rome,  come  to  Asdrubale's  residence  in 
quest  of  conversation,  and  discover  two  young  ladies,  relatives  of  the 
count,  neither  of  whom  would  be  averse  to  catching  him  as  a  hus 
band.  To  this  end,  they  employ  every  petty  ruse  which  current  prac 
tice  permits  in  such  circumstances,  and  don  Marforio  becomes  their 
intimate  adviser. 

As  the  curtain  rises,  a  superb  chorus  touches  off  the  action  among 
this  vast  crowd  of  characters  in  a  manner  as  lively  as  it  is  picturesque. 

1  MM.  Jouy,  de  Lamennais,  Etienne,  Chateaubriand,  Benjamin  Constant, 
de  Bonald,  de  Pradt,  de  Marcellus,  Mignet,  Buchon,  Kevee,  etc.,  etc. 


05  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

Don  Pacuvio,  that  intolerable  gossip,  has  some  private  information 
of  unparalleled  importance,  which  he  absolutely  insists  upon  sharing 
with  the  whole  host  of  friends  and  acquaintances  who  have  gathered 
about  the  count,  and  even  upon  imparting  to  the  determined  pair  of 
young  ladies  who  are  after  his  hand.  But  the  poor  pamphleteer  meets 
with  a  cool  reception,  and  ends  up  by  making  himself  such  a  nuisance 
that  he  sends  everyone  scurrying  for  safety  to  avoid  him — whither, 
however,  quite  unperturbed,  he  continues  his  relentless  pursuit. 

Giocondo,  the  passionate  young  poet,  and  don  Marforio,  the 
journalist,  now'  step  on  to  the  stage,  and  sing  a  "literary  duet", 
which,  as  may  well  be  imagined,  is  of  a  most  lively,  satirical  char 
acter.  At  a  single  stroke  of  my  critical  pen,  claims  the  scribbler,  a 
thousand  poor  poets  fall  flat  in  the  dust! 

Mille  vati  at  suolo  io  stendo 
Con  un  colpo  di  giornale! 

Treat  me  properly,  on  the  other  hand,  and  I  shall  reward  you  with 
glory!  But  the  young  poet  is  not  to  be  tempted:  At  such  a  price,  he 
exclaims,  glory  would  be  utterly  despicable!  What  have  I  in  common 
with  a  newspaper? 

This  duet  is  delightfully  pointed  and  satirical,  and  only  Rossini 
could  have  managed  it.  Its  most  admirable  qualities  are  its  fire,  its 
wit,  its  lightness  of  touch,  and  its  completely  dispassionate,  almost 
indifferent  emotional  attitude.  The  sly  journalist,  realizing  that 
Giocondo  is  immune  to  temptations  which  aim  to  flatter  his  literary 
vanity,  abandons  him  with  a  Parthian  shot  directed  against  his  dis 
appointed  love  for  Clarice.  Tilting  against  millionaires,  he  remarks, 
with  no  better  weapon  than  a  heart  enslaved,  is  a  sport  which  often 
betrays  a  noble  character,  but  which  rarely  leads  to  success!  This 
depressing  truth  decidedly  upsets  the  young  poet;  both  characters 
leave  the  stage,  only  to  make  way  at  last  (after  so  much  chatter  about 
her)  for  the  adorable  Clarice,  who  sings  the  cavatina: 

Ecopietosa  tu  sei  la  sola  ...1 

In  Italy,  this  aria  is  as  well-known  as  the  famous  song  fiomTancredi; 
nevertheless,  the  most  prudent  management  of  the  Opera-Bouffe  in 
Paris  had  the  wondrous  common  sense  to  suppress  it  altogether! 
3  Pitiful  Echo,  you  are  the  only  one  ... 


LA  PIETRA  DEL  PARAGONE  89 

If  there  is  one  field  in  which  music  excels,  it  is  in  the  portrayal  of  a 
hopeless  passion;  and  in  this  case,  especially,  since  the  preceding 
scenes  have  already  given  us  an  intimate  glimpse  of  the  passion  in 
question,  the  portrayal  is  unusually  perfect.  We  are  not  concerned 
here  with  the  old,  platitudinous  story  of  a  love  thwarted  by  some 
prosaic,  external  obstacle — a  father,  or  a  guardian,  as  the  case  may 
be — but  with  the  analysis  of  a  love  thrown  into  despair  by  the 
anguished  torments  of  fear.  Clarice's  fear  is  that,  in  the  eyes  of  her 
lover,  she  shall  appear  to  possess  nothing  but  a  base  and  mercenary 
soul.  To  a  person  of  discriminating  taste,  the  difference  between  these 
two  dramatic  motives  is  incalculable: 

Eco  pietosa  (exclaims  Clarice)  tu  set  la  sola 
Che  mi  consola  nel  mio  dolor  ...-1 

Indeed,  who  else  is  there  for  poor  Clarice  to  confide  in?  In  circum 
stances  like  these,  could  any  truly  noble  lover  bear  the  vulgar  con 
solations  of  "talking  it  over"  with  a  friend?  If  she  had  turned  to  her 
companions,  one  and  all  would  certainly  have  urged  her:  Marry, 
marry  quick,  no  matter  how,  and  let  love  come  later,  if  God  wills  it  so! 
While  Clarice  is  still  singing,  the  count,  who  happens  to  be  close  at 
hand,  concealed  in  a  neighbouring  glade,  has  a  fancy  to  play  the 
echo* ;  the  plan  is  crazy,  and  quite  at  variance  with  all  his  previous 
careful  scheming;  but  in  the  end,  the  temptation  is  too  strong.  So, 
when  Clarice  sings: 

Quel dirmi,  o  dio,  non  f  amo  ...2 

the  count  provides  the  echo :  amo.  This  is  a  dramatic  variation  which 
it  had  not  occurred  to  Rossini  to  exploit  in  the  aria  from  Tancredi; 
and  it  is  not  hard  to  imagine  the  impact  which  a  device  of  this  char 
acter,  so  admirably  suited  to  the  characteristic  requirements  of 
opera,  and  enhanced  with  all  the  dreamy  gentleness  of  Rossini's 
music,  might  have  created  in  Paris.  But  no ;  our  prudent  directors 
naturally  appreciated  the  danger  at  once! 

Clarice  enjoys  one  fleeting  moment  of  happiness;  but  the  count's 
tender  avowal  was  only  an  ephemeral  weakness ;  when  she  meets  him 
again  an  instant  later,  he  is  as  agreeable,  as  light-hearted,  but  as 

1  Pitiful  Echo,  you  are  the  only  one  who  consoles  me  in  my  grief ... 

2  Ah!  those  words — oh  God! — "I  do  not  love  you". 


90  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

distant  and  reserved  as  ever.  He  is  in  fact  meditating  his  great 
"test",  and  we  are  allowed  to  behold  him  issuing  final  instructions 
to  Ms  steward,  who  is  to  aid  and  abet  him.  Having  observed  Gio- 
condo's  unrequited  love  for  Clarice,  he  is  delighted  to  have  the 
chance  of  discovering  precisely  how  long  it  is  likely  to  remain  un 
requited  in  his  absence.  At  last,  the  count  vanishes  out  of  sight,  only 
to  reappear  a  moment  later  disguised  as  a  Turk.  This  "Turk"  now 
proceeds  to  confront  the  steward  with  a  bill  of  exchange,  duly  and 
correctly  signed  by  Asdrubale's  father,  for  the  round  sum  of  two 
millions— &  debt  which,  when  paid  off,  will  swallow  up  the  greater 
part  of  the  count's  estate.  The  steward  in  due  course  formally  recog 
nizes  and  acknowledges  the  signature  of  his  employer's  father,  veri 
fies  that  it  is  genuine  and  valid;  and  the  general  belief  grows  rapidly 
that  the  count  is  completely  ruined.  The  stage  is  now  set  for  this 
gentleman  himself  to  make  his  entry,  still  heavily  disguised  as  a 
Turk;  and  at  this  point  Rossini  launches  out  into  the  most  perfect 
buffo  finale  that  he  ever  composed. 

The  'Turk"  (played  by  Galli)  has  a  vocabulary  which  is  restricted 
to  one  solitary  word,  which  he  employs  with  indiscriminate  persist- 
ance  to  confound  every  objection  which  is  raised  up  against  him — a 
barbaric,  semi-Italianized  word:  sigillara!  Let  the  seals  be  affixed! 
This  baroque  expression,  which  the  "Turk"  has  ever  on  his  lips, 
repeating  it  willy-nilly  in  every  context  and  with  every  manner  of 
inflexion  (since  it  is  the  only  reply  he  seems  to  know  to  every  question 
or  demand  which  is  addressed  to  him),  created  such  &  furore  among 
the  Milanese,  among  this  nation  of  bom  connoisseurs,  that  the  opera 
was  accredited  with  a  new  title  in  consequence.  In  Lombardy  to-day, 
if  you  happen  to  mention  la  Pietra  del  Paragone,  no  one  will  under 
stand  what  on  earth  you  are  talking  about;  you  must  always  refer  to 
il  Sigillara. 

This  is  ths  finale  which  was  cut  in  the  Paris  production! 

The  "Turk"  *s  retort  to  the  journalist,  who  attempts  to  protest 
when  the  bailiffs  want  to  affix  the  seals  to  his  room,  is  famous 
throughout  all  Italy,  echoing  the  unquenchable  outburst  of  laughter 
which  it  provoked  at  the  time: 

Don  Marforio:  Mi  far  critica  giornale 

Che  averfama  in  ogni  loco. 


LA  PIETRA  DEL  PARAGONE  91 

//  Turco:    Ti  lasciar  al  men  per  poco 
II  bon  senso  a  respirar!1 

The  audience  was  hugely  delighted  with  ibis  finale  and  its  Sigillara!, 
and  the  opera  inaugurated  a  whole  epoch  of  enthusiastic  and  ecstatic 
performances  at  la  Scala;  Milan  was  invaded  by  hordes  of  opera- 
goers  from  Parma,  from  Piacenza,  from  Bergamo,  from  Brescia,  and 
from  every  city  within  a  distance  of  twenty  leagues.  Rossini  became 
the  greatest  figure  in  all  the  land;  he  was  overwhelmed  with  visits 
from  admirers;  and  love  could  not  long  deny  him  his  just  reward. 
Dazzled  by  so  much  glory  and  fame,  the  loveliest  of  lovely  women  in 
all  Lombardy,  hitherto  a  model  of  conjugal  fidelity,  and  a  high  and 
honourable  example  to  every  young  married  woman,  forgot  every 
scrap  of  duty  she  owed  to  her  house,  her  husband  and  her  reputation, 
and  publicly  carried  Rossini  off  in  her  arms  under  the  very  nose  of  la 
Marcolini.  Rossini,  for  his  part,  transformed  his  young  mistress  into 
the  finest  musician  you  might  hope  to  find  in  all  Italy;  and  it  was  at 
her  side,  upon  her  piano,  and  within  the  walls  of  her  country-house* 
at  B***,  that  he  composed  by  far  the  larger  part  of  the  anas  and 
cantilenas,  which,  in  time,  were  to  form  the  crowning  glory  and 
triumph  of  his  thirty  operatic  masterpieces. 

At  that  date,  the  province  of  Lombardy  was  enjoying  a  period  of 
unparalleled  prosperity.  Milan,  the  brilliant  capital  of  a  new- 
founded  kingdom,  whose  liberal  king  exacted  from  his  subjects  a 
lighter  tribute  of  stupidity  than  any  of  his  royal  neighbours,  was 
simultaneously  alive  with  every  imaginable  variety  of  activity,  with 
every  opportunity  for  making  money  or  for  procuring  pleasure.  And, 
for  a  State  just  as  much  as  for  an  individual,  happiness  consists  not 
so  much  in  possessing  money,  as  in  making  itl  Milan  had  adopted  a 
new  code  of  manners,  bearing  such  a  stamp  of  vigour  as  had  not  been 
seen  since  the  Middle  Ages  ;2  yet  there  was  no  affectation,  no  prudish- 
ness,  not  yet  any  mere  blind  adulation  of  Napoleon;  for  if  Napoleon 
ever  wanted  servile  flattery,  he  was  certainly  made  to  pay  for  it  in 
good,  ringing  money. 

1  I  am  responsible  for  a  perfect  newspaper,  of  universal  renown  (are  you 
going  to  interrupt  my  work?>— If  I  do,  that  would  at  least  allow  common  sense 
a  few  minutes  breathing-space! 

2  Cf.  the  Bulletins  de  VArmee  d'Espagne;  the  generals  Bertoletti,  Zucchi, 
Schiassetti,  etc.;  count  Prina,  Minister  of  State;  the  painter  Appiani;  the  poet 
Monti,  etc.,  etc. 


92  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

But  this  wonderful  period  of  prosperity,  which  reigned  in  Lorn- 
bardy  in  1813,  was  all  the  more  pathetic  and  moving,  in  that  it  was 
on  the  point  of  being  obliterated.  It  was  as  though  some  vague 
prophetic  instinct  was  already  whispering  to  an  apprehensive  people 
to  listen  for  the  thunder  of  cannon  away  in  the  far  North.  Even 
before  the  last  echoes  of  the  wild  triumph  of  la  Pietra  del  Paragone 
had  died  away,  our  armies  were  in  full  retreat  along  the  Dnieper,  and 
the  Coalition  of  Kings*  was  bearing  down  upon  us. 

For  all  Rossini's  habitual,  and  perhaps  studied  indifference,  there 
come  times  when  even  he  can  barely  keep  out  of  his  voice  an  occa 
sional  trace  of  deep  excitement;  and  so  indeed  it  happens  whenever 
he  is  brought  to  talk  about  the  great  happiness  he  experienced  during 
this  long,  fair  summer  of  his  youth,  when  he,  in  the  company  of  a 
whole  nation  which,  after  three  hundred  years  of  black  oppression, 
was  slowly  coming  out  of  darkness  into  the  light  of  a  new  dawn, 
discovered  the  thrill  of  being  alive. 


ACT  TWO 

The  second  act  of  la  Pietra  del  Paragone  opens  with  a  quartet 
which  is  without  parallel  in  all  the  rest  of  Rossini's  works ;  it  catches 
to  perfection  the  accents  and  the  indefinable  charm  of  a  conversation 
among  a  group  of  people,  each  one  of  whom  is  in  the  grip  of  some 
intense  and  vital  emotion,  and  yet  all  of  whom  strenuously  deny 
themselves  the  actual  pleasure  of  talking  about  their  secret  feelings. 

There  then  follows  a  comic  duel  between  don  Marforio,  the 
journalist,  who  has  had  the  temerity  to  make  amorous  suggestions 
to  Clarice,  and  Giocondo,  the  young  poet,  who  still  worships  her 
unavailingly,  and  who  now  claims  the  right  to  act  as  her  champion 
and  avenge  her. 

The  journalist,  with  all  the  desperation  of  cowardice,  pleads  with 
his  opponent: 

Diro  ben  di  voi  nel  mio  giornale! 

to  which  the  latter  replies: 

Potentissimi  dell  sarebbe  questa 


LA  PIETRA  DEL  PARAGONE  93 

Una  ragion  piu  forte 
Per  ammazzarti  subito!1 

Further  complications  weave  a  new  web  of  entanglement  about 
this  duel,  beginning  with  the  intervention  of  the  count,  who  likewise 
insists  upon  obtaining  satisfaction  in  respect  of  an  insolent  article 
which  the  journalist  had  published  concerning  his  mysterious  adven 
tures.  The  great  trio  which  eventually  emerges  from  this  imbroglio 
may  well  bear  comparison  with  the  famous  duel-scene  from  Cim- 
arosa's  z  Nemici  generosi;  the  difference  between  the  two  composers 
being,  as  always,  that  the  one  is  impassioned  where  the  other  is 
witty. 

The  somewhat  wry  facetiousness  of  the  cowardly  journalist,  who 
would  give  a  great  deal  to  wind  up  the  business  in  a  spirit  of  universal 
friendship  and  good-will, 

Con  quel  che  resta  ucciso 
lo  poi  mi  batter o  ...,2 

is  musically  delightful;  and  the  song: 

Ecco  i  soliti saluti  ...,3 

which  is  sung  by  the  two  friends  while  they  accept  swords  offered  to 
them  upon  silver  platters  by  a  pair  of  footmen  in  full  livery,  and  then 
proceed  to  the  formal  salutes  of  the  fencing-schools,  is  utterly 
delicious!  The  language  of  the  dialogue  is  just  sufficiently  serious  to 
deceive  an  otherwise  intelligent  man  who  is  momentarily  stupefied 
with  terror. 

This  trio,  which  is  delightful  on  any  stage  and  in  any  country,  was 
greeted  in  Italy  with  the  wildest  enthusiasm;  for,  in  every  petty  little 
provincial  town,  the  satire  found  its  mark  ad  homfnem,  in  the  person 
of  some  wretched,  miserable  official  journalist  who,  despite  the  best 
efforts  of  his  highly-placed  "protectors",  periodically  lands  himself 
in  the  middle  of  some  scrape  or  other,  or  gets  caught  up  in  some 
undignified  riot,  where  (as  Scapino  satirically  remarks)  "blows  fall 
thick  as  hailstones".  In  Milan,  where  everyone  knows  everyone  else, 

1  I  will  write  flattering  articles  about  you  in  my  newspaper! — O  ye  almighty 
gods!  That  would  be  an  even  more  potent  argument  in  favour  of  killing  you  off 
at  once! 

2  Afterwards,  J  will  challenge  whoever  has.  Already  been  killed  .., 
*  Here  are  the  customary  greetings  ... 


94  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

the  enthusiasm  was  wilder  than  anywhere,  for  the  actor  who  played 
don  Marforio  had  somehow  or  other  procured  a  full  suit  of  clothes, 
which,  as  all  the  town  knew  only  too  well,  had  been  worn  on  a 
certain  occasion  by  the  "official  journalist"  employed  by  the  Police! 

La  Pietra  del  Paragone,  like  VltaUana  in  Algeri,  finishes  with  a 
mighty  aria.  La  Marcolini  had  at  some  time  expressed  a  wish  to 
appear  on  the  stage  in  male  attire;  and  so  Rossini  had  persuaded  his 
librettist  to  contrive  the  plot  so  that  Clarice,  still  pursuing  her 
schemes  to  wrest  a  confession  of  love  from  the  count,  should  disguise 
herself  as  a  Captain  of  Hussars. 

Not  a  single  voice  in  all  Milan — not  even  that  of  the  pilloried 
"official  journalist" — was  raised  in  protest  against  the  palpable 
absurdity  of  such  a  plot,  where  a  young  lady  of  noblest  Roman  birth 
and  of  the  highest  social  pretensions,  chooses  to  amuse  herself  by 
dressing  up  as  a  Captain  of  Hussars,  and  indulges  a  whim  to  salute 
the  audience,  sabre  in  hand,  at  the  head  of  her  entire  squadron.  No 
doubt,  if  la  Marcolini  had  insisted,  Rossini  would  cheerfully  have 
had  her  singing  away  on  horseback!  The  aria  itself  is  fine  enough; 
but,  when  all  is  said  and  done,  it  is  really  all  bravura;  and  just  at  the 
point  where  the  dramatic  interest  should  rise  to  a  climax,  Rossini 
clumsily  allows  the  tension  to  relax  completely,  with  the  result  that 
the  listener's  imagination,  which  had  been  screwed  up  to  a  pitch  of 
electrified  intensity  in  anticipation  of  the  great  moment,  is  just  left 
dangling  limply;  and,  in  the  end,  the  audience  is  reduced  to  applaud 
ing  a  series  of  virtuoso  roulades,  just  as  though  it  were  listening  to  a 
concert,  for  want  of  anything  better  to  applaud. 

It  was  while  Rossini  was  in  Milan  that  he  "borrowed"  the  device 
known  as  the  crescendo  (later  to  become  so  notorious)  from  a  com 
poser  by  the  name  of  Giuseppe  Mosca*— to  the  latter's  unspeakable 
disgust. 


CHAPTER  V 
Conscription  and  Envy 


A, 


LFTER  such  a  remarkable  run  of  successes,  Rossini  returned  to 
Pesaro  to  visit  his  family,  to  whom,  incidentally,  he  is  still  passion 
ately  attached.  In  all  his  life,  he  has  written  but  to  one  person:  his 
mother — and  the  letters  which  he  writes  to  her  bear  the  following 
superbly  uninhibited  superscription* : 

Air  ornatissima  signora  Rossini,  madre  del  celebre  maestro, 
in  Bologna. 

Thus  the  man,  thus  his  character;  half-seriously,  half  jestingly,  he 
acknowledges  his  own  halo  or  glory,  and  scarcely  deigns  to  cloak 
himself  in  the  petty  robes  of  academic  modesty— a  phenomenon 
which  convinces  me  that,  in  Paris,  he  could  never  hope  to  enjoy  any 
real  personal  popularity.  Blessed  with  genius  in  the  midst  of  the 
most  impressionable  people  in  the  whole  universe,  intoxicated  with 
adulation  ever  since  his  earliest  adolescence,  he  abides  firmly  by  his 
faith  in  his  own  ability  and  fame,  and  sees  no  valid  reason  why  an 
individual  of  the  stature  of  a  Rossini  should  fail  to  rank,  not  by 
special  concession  and  privilege,  but  simply  by  a  dictate  of  natural 
law,  with  a  Lieutenant-General  or  a  Minister-of-State.  They,  appar 
ently,  have  picked  a  winning  number  in  the  lottery  of  ambition;  he, 
in  the  lottery  of  native  genius*.  The  aphorism  is  of  Rossini's  own 
invention;  I  heard  him  formulate  it  one  evening  in  Rome,  in  1819, 
while  the  whole  company  which  had  assembled  at  the  house  of 
Prince  Chigi  was  deliberately  being  kept  waiting  for  him. 

At  about  the  same  time  as  his  journey  to  Pesaro,  he  achieved 
another  success,  which  was  very  rare  indeed  at  the  time:  the  terrible 
conscription-laws  were  relaxed  for  him,  as  a  special  concession  to  his 
dawning  genius.  The  Minister  of  the  Interior  for  the  Kingdom  of 
Italy  proposed  to  Prince  Eugene*  that  an  exception  be  made  in  his 
favour;  and  the  Prince,  notwithstanding  the  abysmal  terror  with 


96  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

which  he  contemplated  any  directives  sent  from  Paris,  yielded  to 
public  opinion.  Redeemed  from  military  service*,  Rossini  went  on  to 
Bologna,  where  there  awaited  him  further  adventures  in  the  same 
vein  as  those  which  he  had  recently  encountered  in  Milan — audi 
ences  to  deafen  him  with  their  acclamations,  and  the  fairest  of  fair 
women  to  crown  him  with  their  love! 

The  musical  purists  of  Bologna,  however,  who  are  notorious 
throughout  the  length  and  breadth  of  Italy,  and  who  stand  in  much 
the  same  relation  to  music  as  the  members  of  the  Academic  Frangaise 
stand  in  relation  to  the  "three  unities"  of  classical  tragedy,  accused 
him  (and  rightly  so)  of  occasional  infringements  against  the  laws  of 
composition*.  Rossini  acknowledged  that  indictment:  /  should  be 
guilty  of  fewer  faults,  he  replied  to  this  wretched  swarm  of  pedants, 
if  ever  I  re-read  my  own  manuscripts;  but  you  must  realize  that  I  am 
lucky  if  I  have  six  weeks  in  which  to  write  a  whole  opera  ...  and  even 
so,  I  usually  spend  the  first  month  simply  enjoying  myself!  But  then, 
when  else  do  you  expect  me  to  enjoy  myself,  if  not  now,  while  I  am 
both  young  and  successful?  Am  I  supposed  to  wait  until  I  grow  old  and 
jealous?  And  so  the  time  passes,  until  we  get  to  the  last  fortnight, 
during  which,  every  morning,  I  sit  down  and  compose  a  new  aria  or  a 
duet,  which  we  then  put  into  rehearsal  the  same  evening.  How  do  you 
expect  me  to  be  able  to  spot  every  little  syntactical  slip  in  the  accom 
paniment  (1'istrumentazione)? 

These  so-called  "grammatical  slips"  stirred  up  a  great  fuss  in 
certain  quarters  of  Bologna.  A  generation  or  two  ago,  similar  pedants 
had  got  into  the  habit  of  proclaiming  that  Voltaire  did  not  know  how 
to  spell.  So  much  the  worse  for  spelling!  retorted  Rivarol. 

In  Bologna,  where  the  pedants  were  railing  and  fulminating  so 
bitterly  against  Rossini,  on  account  of  his  repeated  "violation  of  the 
rules  of  musical  composition",  Signor  Gherardi  supplied  the  retort: 
Tell  me,  please,  who  invented  these  famous  "rules"?  And,  supposing 
these  "inventors"  to  be  men  of  genius,  is  their  genius  more  resplendent 
than  that  of  the  composer  who  created  Tancredi?  A  load  of  stupid 
nonsense  doesn't  cease  to  be  a  load  of  stupid  nonsense,  just  because  it  is 
grown  ancient  and  taught  in  the  schools! 

Here  we  have  a  set  of  notions,  which  they  have  chosen  to  call  "rules"; 
let  us  examine  them  closely.  However,  before  we  go  any  further,  tell 
me  this:  what  sort  of  "rules"  are  these,  which  may  be  violated  or 


CONSCRIPTION  AND  ENVY  97* 

discarded  at  mil,  without  the  listener  growing  one  wit  the  wiser,  nor 
his  pleasure  one  iota  the  less? 

In  Paris  I  believe  it  was  M.  Berton  (de  rinstituf)  who  revived 
this  old  quarrel.1  Yet  the  fact  is  that  these  "faults"  pass  totally 

1  I  am  most  profoundly  worried,  lest  certain  spiteful  persons  should  feel  the 
urge  to  cast  doubt  upon  the  deep  and  sincere  respect  which  I  feel  towards  all 
French  composers  in  general  (ancient  as  well  as  modern),  and  towards  M.  Berton 
in  particular, Indue  fairness,  hoth  to  M.  Berton,  and  to  myself,  I  could  not  do 
better  than  to  reproduce  here  the  most  singular  correspondence  to  which  I  have 
just  referred  in  the  text.  My  most  tormenting  anxiety  is  lest  I  be  accused  of  being 
a  bad  Frenchman;  and  you  will  agree  that  it  would  be  a  terrible  fate,  if  something 
so  frivolous  as  a  book  on  music  should  blast  and  obliterate  for  ever  my  reputation 
as  a  sound  patriot. 

LETTER  FROM  M.  BERTON 

L'Abeille,  4th  August,  1821 . 

Mr.  Rossini  possesses  a  brilliant  imagination,  tremendous  vivacity,  much  origin 
ality,  and  a  plentiful  fertility  of  invention;  nevertheless,  he  himself  is  as  well  aware 
as  anyone,  that  his[style  is  occasionally  faulty  and  incorrect;  moreover,  for  all  the 
protests  of  certain  persons  in  this  matter,  purity  of  style  is  not  a  quality  to  be  lightly 
dismissed,  and  faults  of  syntax,  whatever  language  one  happens  to  be  using,  are 
never  excusable.  This,  of  course,  is  nothing  new  to  M.  Rossini,  which  is  the  reason 
why  I  have  taken  the  liberty  to  discuss  the  problem  in  these  pages.  Moreover,  since 
it  has  grown  customary  for  writers  in  the  daily  press  to  constitute  themselves  music- 
critics,  I,  who  have  graduated  through  the  schools  of  Montano,  of  le  DeKre,  of 
Aline,  etc.,  may  safely  claim,  I  feel,  the  right  to  pronounce  my  own  opinion  ex 
professo.  Furthermore,  I  state  my  ideas  frankly  and  openly,  above  my  own  signature, 
which  is  more  than  can  be  said  for  certain  persons  whose  furious  pastime  of  making 
and  un-making  reputations  is  pursued  strictly  incognito.  My  only  motives  in 
writing  as  I  have  done  are,  firstly,  an  unsullied  love  of  art  for  its  own  sake,  and, 
secondly,  a  sincere  consideration  of  M.  Rossini's  own  interests.  No  one  would 
question  the  fact  that  this  composer  is  the  most  outstanding  genius  who  has  appeared 
in  Italy  since  Cimarosa;  but  a  man  may  be  widely,  and  indeed  justly  renowned, 
without  necessarily  achieving  the  distinction  of  a  Mozart. 

I  must  renounce  the  satisfaction  of  transcribing  at  length  passages  from  a 
treatise  by  M.  Berton,  entitled  De  la  musique  m^canique  et  de  la  musique  philo- 
sophique,  par  M.  Berton,  membre  de  Vlnstitut  royal  de  France  (1821,  p.  24), 
which  clearly  puts  Rossini  in  his  proper  place.  "This  Italian*',  apparently,  never 
rises  above  "mechanical  music".  In  another  little  essay,  of  a  mere  seven  pages 
this  time,  which  appears  as  an  article  in  rAbeille  (vol.  TV,  p.  267),  M.  Berton 
proceeds  to  prove  that  the  composer  of  Otello  has  achieved  nothing  more  pro 
found  in  music  than  a  number  of  arabesques.  Similarly,  in  Italy,  a  certain  Signor 
Majer,  of  Venice,  has  recently  established  the  same  remarkable  truth. 

REPLY  TO  M.  BERTON 

Le  Miroir.  llth  August,  1821. 

Evidently  my  opponent  is  no  longer  the  inexperienced  editor  of  some  obscure 
periodical:  nor  am  I  catted  upon  to  defend  my  opinions  against  the  pricks  and  prods 
of  some  unknown  drawing-room  amateur.  An  athlete,  well-trained  and  crowned 
with  the  laurels  of  more  than  one  recent  victory,  has  now  stepped  into  the  arena,  and 
flung  down  the  glove  in  formal  challenge.  The  composer  of  Montano,  Aline  and 
le  Delire  challenges  in  me  the  admirer  of  Tancredi,  Otello  and  the  Barber.  The 


98  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

serried  ranks  of  the  anti-Rossinian  host  have  at  last  brought  forward  a  champion 
upon  whose  strength  they  may  place  firm  reliance.  Here  is  one  of  the  leading  figures 
of  the  living  theatre  ready  to  expound  the  learned  cause  and  yet  more  learned 
prejudices  of  the  Academy  itself:  the  protagonist  of  the  musical  counter-revolution 
has  proved  to  be  a  member  of  the  Institut  de  France. 

M.  Berton  preludes  his  initial  skirmish  with  a  volley  of  words  whose  ring  of  lofty 
disdain,  unfamiliar  in  the  field  of  literary  polemic,  betrays  a  deep  and  intimate  con 
viction  of  his  own  incontestable  superiority.  I  observe  this  phenomenon;  but  far  be  it 
from  me  to  see  in  it  a  matter  of  reproach.  On  the  contrary,  I  have  the  most  profound 
admiration  for  such  plain  and  frank  assertions  of  god-like  self-confidence;  an 
antique  hero  is  entitled  to  an  attitude  of  proud  bravado,  and  a  touch  of  swagger  in 
the  vocabulary  is  not  misplaced  as  a  prelude  to  a  duel.  Moreover,  M.  Berton  is  not 
content  merely  to  admire  the  ancients;  he  is  set  upon  imitating  their  noble  deeds;  he 
knows  that,  in  those  heroic  combats,  of  which  Homer  and  Virgil  have  left  us  such 
brilliant  descriptions,  no  protagonist  did  ever  come  to  grips  with  his  opponent, 
unless  the  pair  had  first  exchanged  a  broadside  or  two  of  threatening  and  disdainful 
epithets.  It  is  true,  of  course,  that  the  most  presumptuous  was  not  always  the  most 
valiant;  witness  Paris,  who  day  by  day  provoked  the  most  illustrious  warriors  of  the 
Grecian  camp,  only  to  flee  like  a  startled  fawn  at  the  critical  instant  of  combat;  but 
clearly  such  cautious  reservations  can  in  no  way  detract  from  the  time-honoured 
respectability  of  the  tradition,  nor  diminish  the  value  of  an  antique  example  in  the 
eyes  of  so  convinced  an  adulator  of  antiquity.  As  for  myself,  who,  unlike  M.  Berton, 
profess  no  such  relentless  and  exclusive  cult  of  the  manners,  men  and  arts  of  ancient 
times,  it  is  understandable  that  I  should  not,  in  my  defence,  borrow  the  same  tone 
which  he  has  seen  fit  to  use  in  his  attack.  His  weapon  is  a  boastful  vainglory  re 
furbished  from  the  Greeks;  mine,  the  modest  politeness  of  a  later  age.  He  will  find 
that  I  can  easily  manage  without  his  armoury  of  withering  sarcasms  and  imperious 
sneers,  no  matter  whether  I  am  stating  my  opinion  concerning  the  score  0/Otello, 
or  whether  I  am  expressing  my  considered  verdict  upon  Racine,  whose  glorious  sun 
(in  the  opinion  of  this  learned  musician)  plunges  the  pale  star  of  the  author  of 
Brutus  and  Mahomet  into  inglorious  eclipse. 

M.  Berton  accuses  me  of  failing  to  sign  my  articles;  but  surely  the  illustrious 
professor  has  exaggerated  the  significance  of  our  little  contest.  He  seems  to  have 
forgotten  his  own  epoch,  imagining  himself  carried  back  in  time  among  the  heroic 
disputes  between  Gluck  and  Piccini;  a  musical  argument,  to  him,  is  nothing  less 
than  an  affair  of  honour;  moreover,  he  is  forgetting  that  I  have  never  once  men 
tioned  him  by  name  in  any  of  my  articles,  and  that  he,  and  he  alone,  is  the  aggressor. 
If  it  were  a  question  of  anything  but  a  literary  duel,  I  should  be  only  too  pleased  to 
make  myself  known  at  the  earliest  possible  opportunity:  but  while  the  subject  of  our 
quarrel  turns  upon  the  respective  merits  of  Racine  and  Voltaire,  the  respective 
superiorities  of  Mozart  and  Rossini,  I  shall  continue  to  take  every  precaution  which 
may  serve  to  conceal  my  identity.  M.  Berton*  s  signature  is  well-known  and  highly- 
respected;  and  an  article  from  his  pen,  even  if  its  intrinsic  value  is  approximately 
nil,  might  still  find  readers,  thanks  to  the  name  which  commends  it  to  the  public; 
whereas  my  own  name  is  so  obscure,  that  its  publication  would  probably  serve  only 
to  weaken  the  good  opinion  which  my  articles,  by  their  own  unaided  merits,  have 
already  widely  earned.  I  conclude,  therefore,  that  my  honorable  adversary  is  not 
wrong  to  publish  his  signature:  and  that  I  am  equally  justified  in  refusing  to  publish 
mine. 

In  the  opinion  ofM.  Berton,  it  is  an  unspeakable  blasphemy  to  have  asserted  that 
Rossini  is  more  dramatic  than  Mozart;  and  to  the  uttering  of  this  blasphemy  (if 
blasphemy  it  should  indeed  prove  to  bel)  I  plead  completely  guilty.  Very  well,  then: 
the  nature  of  the  crime  having  been  established,  it  remains  to  be  seen  whether  the 
accusation  can  be  substantiated,  and  whether  the  public,  who  constitute  the  only 
jury  whose  powers  I  recognize  as  valid,  will  decide  that  I  have  truly  merited  reproof 
by  uttering  the  words  for  which  I  have  been  denounced.  If  I  were  to  stand  upon  my 
rights,  I  might  well  refuse  to  analyse  the  various  characteristics  of  Otello  which 


CONSCRIPTION  AND  ENVY  99 

make  it  more  dramatic,  since  M.  Berton  has  carefully  refrained  from  pointing  out 
any  which  make  it  less;  but  the  learned  academician  to  whom  this  answer  is  dedi 
cated,  having  once  asserted  that  he  had  "graduated  through  the  schools  <?/Montano, 
le  Delire",  and  even  (one  might  add)  of  Its  Rigueurs  du  Clpitre,  seemed  to  think 
that  he  had  established  the  privilege  of  being  believed  upon  his  own  unsubstantiated 
word  whenever  he  saw  fit  to  assign  rank  and  status  to  any  given  composer,  Voltaire, 
writing  his  commentary  upon  Corneille,  or  even  La  Harpe  and  Lemercier  in  the 
pulpit  of  the  Athenaeum,  analysing  the  works  of  our  greatest  writers,  usually  conde 
scended  to  furnish  us  with  some  proofs  of  their  assertions:  and  yet  they  too  might 
be  said  to  have  "graduated",  the  first  with  a  good  score  of  undisputed  masterpieces, 
the  second  with  Warwick  a/z^PMloctete,  the  third  with  Pinto,  Plaute  and  Agamem 
non.  But  it  seems  that  learned  prof essors  of  the  Conservatoire  acquire  through  their 
"graduation",  titles  and  privileges  which  are  peculiar  unto  themselves,  and  in  which 
mere  ordinary  men  of  letters  have  no  share.  Yet  I  have  always  believed,  at  least  until 
now,  that  -when  they  claimed  the  most  important  privilege  of  all,  which  is  to  say 
everything  and  prove  nothing,  this  privilege  extended  no  further  than  to  their  own 
erudite  scores. 

Rossini  is  not  content  simply  to  make  assertions:  he  proves  what  he  is  asserting; 
and  in  this  short  sentence  lies  the  highest  praise  that  his  genius  can  merit.  This  is 
both  why  and  how  he  is  dramatic:  he  creates  his  characters,  he  follows  the  develop 
ment  of  his  plot,  as  though  he  had  completely  forgotten  the  helping  presence  of  the 
librettist  at  his  side.  The  restlessness,  the  sparkling  wit  of  Figaro,  the  surly  and 
suspicious  cunning  of  Rosina's  tutor,  the  strange  mixture  of  fury  and  tenderness 
which  characterizes  the  love  of  Othello — these  are  examples  of  true  dramatic 
beauty,  these  characters  who,  even  if  the  support  of  the  libretto  were  to  be  suddenly 
withdrawn  from  them,  would  still  retain  the  greater  part  of  their  charm  or  grandeur. 
That  there  may  exist  elsewhere  such  qualities  as  richer  harmony,  greater  stylistic 
severity,  correctness  or  restraint,  finer  shades  of  obedience  to  the  Rules  of  Composi 
tion,  etc.,  I  will  not  deny;  but,  from  the  point  of  view  of  the  dramatic  impression,  all 
these  very  real  qualities  are  no  more  than  handy  auxiliaries:  they  can  never  furnish 
the  fundamental,  constituent  features  of  a  great  dramatic  imagination.  Be  sincere 
and  honest:  silence  your  school-bred  prejudices,  and  forget  for  once  the  despotic 
authority  of  a  great  name;  listen  to  Mozart  with  your  mind  as  well  as  your  ear;  and 
then  tell  me  truly,  whether,  in  your  heart  of  hearts,  you  find  the  Figaro  <?/le  Nozze 
as  original,  as  amusing,  as  "good  theatre"  as  the  Figaro  0/il  Barbiere.  Opera  is 
drama;  when  I  go  to  the  theatre,  I  go  to  witness  a  dramatic  performance;  and  what 
intimation  of  the  dramatic  do  I  receive  from  hearing  count  Alrmviva* s  steward  sing 
a  series  of  wonderful  arias,  none  of  which  has  anything  but  the  sketchiest,  the  most 
tenuous  connection,  either  with  his  character  or  with  the  development  of  the  plot? 
If  I  want  to  hear  beautiful  music  as  such,  I  can  go  to  a  concert;  when  I  go  to  the 
opera,  it  is  because  I  want  emotional  stimulus,  because  I  want  to  be  moved  to 
laughter  or  to  tears.  Whether  the  author  of  the  drama  'which  is  being  performed 
before  me  call  himself  dramatist,  composer  or  choreographer,  whether  the  medium 
he  employs  consist  of  words,  notes  or  steps,  it  makes  no  significant  difference',  in 
every  case,  he  will  have  achieved  the  first  objective  of  his  art,  he  will  have  fulfilled 
his  promise  and  satisfied  my  expectancies,  if,  by  a  faithful  portrayal  of  life  and 
manners,  by  the  construction  of  a  coherent  plot,  by  the  dramatic  truth  of  his  situa 
tions  and  the  psychological  truth  of  his  characterization,  he  so  handles  the  "Art 
which  imitates  Nature",  that  I  am  persuaded  to  forget,  once  and  for  all,  that  the 
performance  which  I  am  watching  is  nothing  more  than  an  ingenious  pastime,  and 
induced  to  accept  as  true  that  which  I  know  to  be  a  lie  told  within  certain  accepted 
conventions.  It  is  this  illusion  "which  Rossini  has  created  more  often  than  any  other 
composer,  and  which  he  has  brought  to  a  pitch  unsurpassable  within  the  narrow 
limits  of  the  art  which  he  has  chosen  as  his  medium;  which,  finally,  has  procured 
him  such  numerous  and  resounding  triumphs.  In  Mozarfs  operas,  the  libretto  is 
essential,  providing  the  spectator  with  an  indispensable  translation;  in  those  of 
Rossini,  it  is  nothing  more  than  a  subsidiary  accompaniment:  the  Figaro  0/The 


100  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

Barber  is  a  great  and  profoundly  comic  figure;  the  Figaro  of  le  Nozze  is  only  a 
brilliant  musician. 

In  spite  of  the  opinion  of  my  illustrious  antagonist  in  this  matter,  I  do  not  believe 
that  Rossini  (whom  he  is  pleased  to  call  Mr  Rossini)  mil  repudiate  the  praise  -which 
I  have  bestowed  upon  his  admirable  compositions.  If  he  were  to  do  so,  the  author  of 
Otello  would  prove  himself  scarcely  a  man  at  all,  but  a  very  prodigy ;  for  he  would 
combine  a  will-power  of  stoical  severity  with  a  genius  for  tropical  luxuriance.  This 
double  miracle  is  scarcely  possible.  A  fundamentally  modest  composer  is  almost  as 
rare  as  a  fundamentally  dramatic  one. 

SECOND  REPLY  (No.  173) 
on  the  occasion 

of 
OTELLO 

Otello  continues  to  draw  the  multitudes;  the  brilliance  of  this  opera  is  by  now  a 
matter  of  common  consent,  except  among  a  few  academic  piano-teachers,  musical 
anatomists,  in  whose  opinion  the  qualities  of  wit,  originality  and  true  dramatic 
verve  all  pale  into  insignificance  beside  the  monstrous  fault  of  some  technical 
irregularity  in  a  finale,  or  some  syntactic  weakness  in  a  quintet.  The  general  public, 
which  is  far  too  reasonable  to  look  for  any  virtue  in  the  theatre  other  than  its  own 
pleasure  and  satisfaction,  will  be  the  very  last  body  to  criticize  a  favorite  composer 
for  his  so-called  infringement  of  laws  laid  down  by  the  Conservatoire,  or  of  theories 
studiously  invented  by  erudite  professors.  It  declines  to  sit  and  wait  for  permission 
from  the  purists  of  the  rue  Bergere  before  it  decides  to  enjoy  itself;  and  its  applause 
bears  little  relationship  to  the  sufficiency  of  the  composer's  exercises  in  academic 
counterpoint. 

The  quarrel  which  has  arisen  between  those  who  admire  RossiriTs  genius,  and 
those  who  standby  the  traditions  and  authorities  of  the  old  regime  in  music,  may  be 
due,  perhaps  entirely,  to  the  fact  that  both  sides  have  used  terms  without  bothering 
to  define  them.  It  has  been  asserted  that  the  author  of  Otello  and  The  Barber 
possessed  in  his  music  a  greater  instinctive  sense  of  what  was  essentially  dramatic 
than  the  majority  of  his  rivals  or  predecessors.  This  assertion,  wrongly  understood, 
has  set  the  professorial  party  by  the  ears.  Yet  a  single  glance  at  the  Dictionnaire  de 
1s  Academic  would  have  sufficed  to  smooth  over  all  the  differences.  It  would  there 
have  been  made  quite  plain,  that  dramatic  qualities,  as  such,  have  nothing  to  do  with 
stylistic  perfection  or  its  opposite,  still  less  with  servile  obedience  to  the  rules  of 
composition.  Not  that  Rossini,  even  on  this  double  count,  is  in  any  way  as  criminal 
or  as  incompetent  as  his  detractors  have  insisted— far  from  it;  but  even  if  it  were  to 
be  conceded  that  in  this  respect  he  had  fully  deserved  every  reproach  which  had 
been  hurled  at  him,  it  nevertheless  remains  quite  clearly  demonstrated,  in  practice 
if  not  in  theory,  that  the  music  of  this  renowned  composer  is  more  eloquent,  more 
expressive  and  more  popular  than  that  of  the  most  famous  masters  who  have  ever 
lived.  When  I  use  the  word  dramatic,  then,  this  is  what  I  mean  (and  it  is  impossible 
to  discover  any  other  interpretation):  Music  is  an  art  whose  technical  resources  are 
narrow  and  limited;  music  is  used  to  interpret  words,  but  words  also  help  to  interpret 
music;  and  if  you  rob  music  of  the  assistance  of  words,  you  will  transform  it  into 
a  sort  of  hieroglyphic  idiom,  decipherable  by  a  small  circle  of  initiated  adepts,  but 
totally  unintelligible  to  the  vast  majority  of  the  audience.  Now,  he  who  succeeds,  by 
the  use  of  particular  combinations  of  those  sound-symbols  which  are  the  alphabet  of 
music,  in  achieving  a  degree  of  expressiveness  which,  more  closely  than  any  other, 
corresponds  to  that  of  the  normal  spoken  language,  will  have  achieved,  as  a  com 
poser,  not  merely  the  highest  dramatic  quality,  but  the  nearest  approach  to  truth. 
And  this  achievement  is  precisely  that  which  Rossini  has  accomplished.  Among  all 
known  composers,  he  is  the  one  who  is  least  dependent  upon  his  librettist;  he  has, 
as  far  as  it  lies  within  the  nature  of  his  medium  to  do  so,  liberated  his  art  from  the 
inglorious  fetters  of  a  necessity  which  left  it  shorn  of  half  its  glory.  He  is  like  some 
delightful  foreigner  who  is  intelligent  enough  to  make  himself  understood  without 


CONSCRIPTION  AND  ENVY  101 

the  need  of  an  interpreter;  he  is  like  an  instinctive  writer  of  genius,  who  has  learned 
to  triumph  over  the  obscurities  of  the  language  in  which  he  is  writing,  and  who  can 
be  read  and  understood  by  normally  educated  people  without  invariably  requiring 
the  notes  and  glosses  of  a  commentator. 

Mozart  may  be  richer,  more  harmonious;  Pergolese  may  be  more  correct,  more 
polished;  Sacchini  may  have  greater  gravity,  his  style  may  be  more  chaste — all  this 
may  be  true;  and  yet  neither  I  nor  the  general  public  is  therefore  necessarily 
wrong  to  conclude  that  Rossini  speaks  more  clearly  to  our  understanding,  that  he 
holds  the  key  to  the  innermost  secrets  of  our  delight  and  sensibility.  Rossini's  music 
is  fired  with  an  indescribable,  intangible  element  of  reality  and  living  emotion, 
which  is  somehow  lacking  in  all  the  grandeur  of  Mozart;  his  colours,  perhaps,  are 
less  brilliant,  but  the  pattern  he  paints  is  more  faithful  to  the  original,  and,  in  the 
theatre,  a  faithful  ressemblance  is  the  first,  the  most  essential  requirement.  The 
operatic  composer  is  nothing  but  a  portrait-painter  who  paints  in  music. 

If  there  should  appear  to  be  any  truth  in  these  reflections,  they  may  well  serve  as 
the  preface  to  a  peace-treaty  which  I  am  only  too  willing  to  conclude  with  my 
learned  antagonists.  Let  them  continue  to  think  of  Mozart  as  the  greatest  of 
musicians  who  ever  wrote  music,  while  we  continue  to  put  our  faith  in  Rossini  as  the 
greatest  of  musicians  who  ever  wrote  opera.  J  am  sure  that  this  ingenious  distinction 
will  make  us  all  friends  again. 

This  settled,  my  final  task  must  be  to  drum  some  semblance  of  reason  into  the 
thick  skulls  of  those  who  decry  Italian  music  as  such — that  is,  of  those  who  suffer 
from  this  new  and  curious  brand  of  insanity  and  chauvinism,  which  includes  the 
nationality  of  the  composer  among  the  vital  elements  which  go  to  determine  the 
aesthetic  quality  of  a  romance  or  a  quartet.  These  worthy  patriots  would  flatly 
prohibit  cosmopolitanism  in  entertainment:  but  they  seem  to  forget  that  there  is  no 
such  thing  as  French  music,  or  Italian  music,  or  Spanish  music,  or  German  music, 
but  only  good  music  and  load  music — and  nothing  else.  Its  passport  can  add  not  one 
jot  of  merit  to  its  qualities,  nor  subtract  one  iota  of  badness  from  its  defects.  When 
all  is  said  and  done,  there  are  only  two  kinds  of  music:  music  which  pleases,  and 
music  which  does  not. 

Let  it  be  said  at  once,  that  Rossini's  compositions  would  unfailingly  have  been 
placed  in  the  former  of  these  two  categories  even  without  the  added  attraction  of  the 
talented  singers  to  which  the  management  of  the  Theatre  Louvois  has  seen  fit  to 
entrust  their  execution;  nevertheless,  these  artists  well  deserve  to  be  applauded 
in  their  own  right,  and  it  is  perhaps  fair  to  say  that  never  before  has  Italian  opera  in 
France  been  seen  at  such  clear  advantage,  nor  has  it  been  performed  by  so  un 
exceptionable  a  company.  Madame  Pasta  has  made  very  real  progress  since  her 
debut,  while  Garcia,  as  Otello,  shows  unusual  powers,  not  only  as  a  remarkable 
singer,  but  as  a  considerable  tragic  actor;  no-one  could  show  a  finer  grasp  of  every 
thread  in  that  infinitely  subtle  web  of  thought  and  feeling  which  goes  to  make  up 
the  violent  and  impassioned  character  of  Desdemona*  s  lover. 

Anyone  who  is  sufficiently  intelligent  to  appreciate  a  good  sound  argument 
buttressed  by  a  solid  structure  of  irrefutable  logic  will  be  grateful  to  me  for  having 
reproduced  this  interesting  letter  by  M.  Berton  (de  rinstitut),  and  in  particular  for 
having  introduced  them  to  FAbeille,  the  periodical  in  which  this  great  composer 
has,  on  various  separate  occasions,  inserted  his  judgments  concerning  Rossini, 
and  recorded  the  advice  which,  out  of  his  great  goodness  of  heart,  he  is  prepared 
to  offer  "this  Italian". 

Yet,  however  forceful  his  dialectic,  M.  Berton  keeps  still  another  weapon  up  his 
sleeve;  and  recently  he  has  made  public  a  new  and  even  better  reply  to  the  author 
of  Otello  and  the  Barber— -this  time  still  more  crushing,  annihilating  and  irrefut 
able.  This  thunderbolt  is  the  score  of  Virginie,  a  Grand  Opera  of  impeccable 
academic  rectitude,  which,  at  this  very  instant  (July,  1823),  is  playing  to  thundrous 
applause  at  the  Royal  Academy  of  Music,  and  is  destined  to  sweep  the  capitals  of 
Europe.  But  where,  oh  where,  in  all  Italy,  is  there  to  be  found  an  actor  to  sing  the 
part  of  Appius  quite  in  the  style  of  M.  Derivis?  That  indeed  is  a  problem! 


102  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

unperceived  when  Rossini's  operas  are  heard  in  performance.  It  is  as 
though  one  were  to  denounce  Voltaire  for  failing  to  employ  the  same 
turns  of  phrase,  the  same  stylistic  idiosyncrasies  as  La  Bruyere  or 
Montesquieu.  In  point  of  fact,  it  was  the  second  of  these  two  writers 
who  used  to  say  that  a  Member  of  the  .Academy  writes  as  one 
should  write;  whereas  a  man  of  true  discernment  writes  as  he  should 
write. 

The  fact  is  that  something  like  half  a  hundred  accredited  com 
posers,  finding  themselves  relegated  into  the  utmost  regions  of  outer 
darkness  in  the  course  of  a  few  months  by  the  masterpieces  of  a 
twenty-year-old,  irresponsible  hot-head,  urgently  needed  a  pretext  to 
give  some  rational  justification  to  their  instinctive  reaction  of 
jealousy.  This  kind  of  accusation,  maintained  by  a  whole  class  of 
critics,  never  fails  to  have  a  certain  effect,  and  we  shall  find  it  occur 
ring  over  and  over  again — in  fact,  just  as  long  as  there  are  still  audi 
ences  to  applaud  Rossini.  Any  detailed  discussion  of  Rossini's  "syn 
tactical  howlers"  would  be  bound  to  run  on  for  forty  pages  or  more, 
and  in  the  end  grow  desperately  boring;  so  I  omit  it.  A  mere  tech 
nical  exposition  of  the  point  to  which  the  purists  have  seen  fit  to 
object  would  fill  a  good  ten  sheets  of  manuscript;  so  it  would  be  a 
great  deal  better  if  the  reader  would  make  an  expedition  himself  to 
the  Theatre  Feydeau  any  evening  when  M.  Berton's  opera  Montana 
et  Stephanie  is  on  the  bill;  and  then,  the  day  following,  go  and  see 
Tancredi.  I  am  convinced  that  M.  Berton  has  conscientiously 
eschewed  every  one  of  those  dreadful  "syntactical  howlers"  of  which 
he  so  loftily  accuses  Rossini;  so  I  may  quite  confidently  request  every 
reader  to  place  his  hand  upon  his  heart,  and  to  tell  me  honestly: 
what  is  the  real  difference  between  the  two  works? 

In  every  town  in  Italy  you  could  unearth  a  score  or  so  of  wretched 
keyboard-hacks,  who,  for  some  very  small  consideration,  would  be 
only  too  delighted  to  correct  every  one  of  these  dreadful  "syntactical 
howlers"  in  whichever  of  Rossini's  scores  you  cared  to  propose  to 
them.  Yet  this  is  not  all,  for  there  is  still  another  objection  which  I 
have  heard  voiced  against  Rossini.  Certain  critics  (blessed  are  the 
poor  in  spirit!),  having  read  his  scores,  stand  aghast  with  horror  at 
the  thought  that  he  should  not  have  developed  his  ideas  to  greater 
advantage.  Here  is  a  man  who  is  rich  and  happy;  and  so  he  flings  a 
whole  golden  louis  to  a  little  farm-girl  in  exchange  for  a  bunch  of 


CONSCRIPTION  AND  ENVY  103 

roses — but  the  misers  call  this  madness  I  Not  everyone  is  blessed 
enough  to  appreciate  the  joys  of  pure  irresponsibility. 

While  in  Bologna,  however,  poor  Rossini  found  himself  entangled 
in  a  worse  web  than  any  that  the  purists  had  woven  for  him;  for  his 
Milanese  mistress,  abandoning  in  one  blind  moment  of  frenzy  her 
household,  her  husband,  her  children  and  her  reputation,  turned  up 
one  fine  morning  at  his  lodgings,  which  were,  to  say  the  least  of  it, 
modest.  The  first  instant  of  reunion  was  most  tender  and  touching; 
but  hard  upon  the  heels  of  the  first  lady  came  a  second,  the  fairest, 
the  most  renowned  in  all  Bologna  (Princess  C...).  Rossini,  after  an 
instant  of  hesitation  and  perplexity,  solved  the  dilemma  by  bursting 
with  laughter,  and  singing  a  comic  aria — after  which,  he  promptly 
vanished,  leaving  both  good  ladies  high  and  dry!  Passionate  love  is 
not  his  strong  point. 


WH 


CHAPTER  VI 

The  Impresario  and  his  Theatre 


r  HI  LE  he  was  staying  in  Bologna,  which  is  the  headquarters  of 
musical  life  in  Italy,  Rossini  was  offered  commissions  from  every 
single  town  in  Italy  which  is  proud  enough  to  boast  a  theatre. 
Impresari  were  everywhere  granted  their  contracts  on  the  express 
condition  that  they  should  succeed  in  commissioning  an  opera  from 
Rossini.  He  was  paid  on  an  average  about  a  thousand  francs  for 
each  work,*  and  he  composed  about  four  or  five  operas  a  year. 

Let  me  explain  the  inner  workings  of  the  theatrical  system  in  Italy. 
A  contractor — usually  the  wealthiest  burgher  of  some  petty  town 
ship,  for  this  particular  office  carries  with  it  considerable  social 
prestige  and  not  a  few  other  advantages,  although  it  frequently  turns 
out  to  be  financially  ruinous! — undertakes  to  run  the  theatre  in  the 
town  whose  leading  citizen  he  has  the  honour  to  be;  so  to  start  with, 
he  forms  a  company,  which  consists  invariably  of:  a  prima-donna,  a 
tenore,1  a  basso  cantante,  a  basso  buffo,  a  second  (female),  and  a  third 
(male)  buffo  singer.  Next,  the  impresario  engages  a  maestro  (com 
poser)  to  write  an  original  opera  for  him,  having  always  due  regard, 
in  the  setting  of  his  arias,  to  the  particular  characteristics  of  the 
voices  of  the  singers  who  are  to  perform  them.  The  impresario  then 
purchases  a  text  (the  libretto:  always  in  verse),  which  may  cost  him 
anything  from  sixty  to  eighty  francs,  the  author  being  usually  some 
wretched  abbe  parasitically  attached  to  one  of  the  wealthier  house 
holds  in  the  neighbourhood;  for  in  Lombardy,  where  the  meanest  of 
petty  provincial  towns  invariably  counts  some  half  dozen  landed 
estates  bringing  in  a  hundred  thousand  liwes  a  year  and  upwards,  the 
undignified  profession  of  parasite,  so  brilliantly  satirized  by  Terence, 

1  The  term  tenore  signifies  a  voice  with  strong  chest-notes  in  the  upper  register. 
Davide  is  famous  for  his  falsetto,  that  is  to  say,  for  Ms  powerful  head-notes. 
Generally  speaking,  opera  buffa  and  opera  di  mezzo  carattere  are  written  for  tenors 
with  a  normal  voice-range,  and  such  singers,  taking  their  title  from  the  works  in 
which  they  most  frequently  perform,  are  known  as  tenon  di  mezzo  carattere.  The 
true  tenor  generally  appeared  to  best  advantage  in  opera  seria. 


THE  IMPRESARIO  105 

still  flourishes  in  all  its  glory.  Next,  the  impresario,  himself  the  owner 
of  one  of  these  estates,  proceeds  to  hand  over  all  the  business  man 
agement  of  the  theatre  to  his  agent,  who  is  usually  a  lawyer,  and  in 
fact  the  same  arch-scoundrel  who  manages  his  personal  business  in 
private  life;  while  he  (the  impresario)  is  more  properly  occupied 
in  falling  in  love  with  the  prima  donna',  at  which  point,  the  great 
question  which  arises  to  tickle  the  curiosity  of  the  entire  neighbour 
hood,  is  whether  or  not  he  will  offer  her  his  arm  in  public. 

Thus  "organized",  the  company  eventually  gives  its  first  perform 
ance,  but  not  without  previously  having  survived  a  whole  month  of 
utterly  burlesque  intrigues,  thus  furnishing  an  inexhaustible  supply  of 
gossip  to  entertain  the  entire  countryside.  This  prima  recita  is  the 
greatest  public  happening  in  all  the  long,  dull  existence  of  the  town 
concerned — so  momentous  indeed,  that  I  can  think  of  nothing  in 
Paris  which  could  offer  anything  like  an  adequate  comparison.  For 
three  weeks  on  end,  eight  or  ten  thousand  persons  will  argue  the 
merits  and  defects  of  the  opera  with  all  the  powers  of  sustained  con 
centration  with  which  heaven  has  seen  fit  to  endow  them,  and  above 
all,  with  the  maximum  force  of  which  their  lungs  are  capable.  This 
premiere,  unless  blasted  at  the  very  outset  by  some  scandal  of  posi 
tively  catastrophic  dimensions,  would  normally  be  followed  by  some 
thirty  or  forty  others,  at  the  conclusion  of  which,  the  company 
disbands.  A  run  of  this  type  is  usually  called  a  "season"  (una 
stagione);  and  the  best  season  is  that  which  coincides  with  the 
Carnival.  Any  singers  who  have  not  been  engaged  (scritturati), 
usually  hang  about  in  Bologna  or  in  Milan,  where  they  have 
theatrical  agents  who  make  it  their  business  to  secure  them  contracts, 
and  to  rob  them  unashamedly  in  the  process. 

Furnished  with  this  little  sketch  of  the  life  and  manners  prevailing 
in  the  Italian  theatre,  the  reader  will  now  have  no  difficulty  in  pictur 
ing  the  singular  existence  which  Rossini  led  between  the  years  1810 
and  1816,  and  which  has  no  equivalent  in  France.  One  after  the 
other,  he  visited  every  town  in  Italy,  spending  some  two  or  three 
months  in  each.  As  soon  as  he  set  foot  in  the  place,  he  would  be 
welcomed,  banqueted  and  generally  adulated  by  every  dilettante  in 
the  neighbourhood,  so  that  the  first  two  or  three  weeks  would  be 
gaily  frittered  away  in  the  consumption  of  gala  dinners,  spiced  with 
sighs  and  shrugs  over  the  unspeakable  imbecility  of  the  librettist. 

LR  B 


106  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

Rossini,  over  and  above  the  extraordinary  and  penetrating  intelli 
gence  with  which  he  was  gifted  by  nature,  was  indebted  to  his  earliest 
mistress  (the  countess  P***,  in  Pesaro)  for  a  thorough  training  in 
literary  appreciation,  which  he  had  perfected  through  reading  the 
works  of  Ariosto,  the  comedies  of  Machiavelli,  the  Fiabe  of  Gozzi, 
and  the  satires  of  Buratti;  and  in  consequence,  he  was  exquisitely 
sensitive  to  the  nicer  absurdities  of  the  average  libretto.  Tu  mi  hai 
data  versi,  ma  non  situazioni,1  is  a  complaint  which,  more  than  once, 
I  have  heard  him  thunder  at  some  wretched  literary  hack,  who  is 
thereupon  reduced  to  utter  apologetic  dissolution,  and  returns  a 
couple  of  hours  later  with  a  penitent  sonnet,  umiliato  alia  gloria  del 
piugran  maestro  d*  Italia  e  delmondo. 

After  two  or  three  weeks  spent  in  these  and  similar  dissipations, 
Rossini  begins  to  refuse  invitations  to  banquets  and  soirees  musicales, 
under  the  pretext  that  he  must  seriously  give  his  attention  to  studying 
the  vocal  potentialities  of  his  company.  With  this  end  in  view,  he 
commandeers  a  piano,  and  makes  them  sing;  and  on  such  occasions 
the  observer  may  witness  the  depressing  spectacle  of  a  great  com 
poser  compelled  to  distort  and  mutilate  the  finest  flights  of  musical 
inspiration  which  have  ever  been  known,  for  the  simple  reason  that 
the  tenore  cannot  reach  the  note  which  some  noble  vista  of  creative 
imagination  has  suggested,  or  else  because  theprima  donna  invariably 
sings  off  pitch  in  the  course  of  transition  from  one  key  to  the  next! 
Frequently  the  only  competent  singer  in  the  whole  company  turns 
out  to  be  the  basso. 

Finally,  three  weeks  before  the  premiere  is  billed,  Rossini,  who  is 
by  now  quite  sufficiently  familiar  with  the  voices  of  his  company, 
starts  to  compose  in  earnest.  He  rises  late,  and  settles  down  to  work 
through  a  perpetual  barrage  of  conversation  maintained  by  his  new 
found  acquaintances,  who,  despite  every  protest  he  can  venture  to 
make,  obstinately  refuse  to  leave  him  in  peace  for  a  single  instant 
during  the  whole  of  the  live-long  day.  He  dines  with  them  at  the  local 
osteria,  and  as  often  as  not,  sups  with  them  as  well;  he  returns  home 
late  at  night,  his  friends  convoying  him  back  to  the  very  door  of  his 
lodgings,  all  singing  at  the  tops  of  their  voices  some  song  which  he 
has  improvised  during  the  course  of  the  evening;  on  occasions,  they 
have  even  been  known  to  indulge  in  an  impromptu  miserere,  to  the 
1  You  have  provided  me  with  verses,  but  not  with  situationsl 


THE  IMPRESARIO  107 

inexpressible  scandal  of  all  pure  and  pious  church-goers  in  the  neigh 
bourhood.  But  eventually  he  does  manage  to  retreat  to  the  peace  of 
his  own  room,  and  this  is  the  hour — often  towards  three  in  the 
morning — when  his  most  brilliant  musical  inspirations  tend  to  come 
upon  him.  He  scribbles  them  down,  hastily  and  without  a  piano,  on 
any  odd  scraps  of  paper  which  may  chance  to  be  handy,  and  tosses 
them  aside  until  the  morning,  when,  amid  the  roar  and  hubbub  of 
convivial  conversation,  he  may  find  time  to  "instrument"  them  (to 
use  his  own  favourite  expression).  He  must  be  pictured  as  a  spirit  of 
quicksilver  agility,  as  a  character  of  the  most  fiery  temperament, 
perpetually  subject  to  new  impressions,  perpetually  on  the  alert  for 
new  ideas ;  the  sort  of  man  for  whom  nothing  ever  seems  too  difficult. 
Thus,  latterly,  while  he  was  working  on  his  Mose  in  Egitto,  an 
acquaintance  chanced  to  remark:  Since  you  intend  to  have  a  Chorus 
of  Jews,  why  not  give  them  a  nasal  intonation,  the  sort  of  thing  you 
hear  in  a  synagogue?  Struck  by  the  notion,  Rossini  promptly  sat 
down  and  composed  a  magnificent  chorus,  which  in  fact  does  open 
with  a  most  curious  harmonic  combination  strongly  reminiscent  of 
the  Jewish  synagogue.  To  the  best  of  my  knowledge,  there  is  only  one 
thing  which  reduces  this  ever-brilliant,  ever-fertile,  ever-active  genius 
to  a  state  of  utter  paralysis,  and  that  is  the  importunate  presence  of 
some  pedantic  purist,  in  whose  conversation  flattery  alternates  with 
an  airing  of  theories,  and  who  is  only  happy  if  he  can  overwhelm  his 
victim  with  compliments  decked  out  in  academic  verbiage.  On  such 
occasions,  Rossini's  temper  tends  to  get  the  better  of  him,  and  he 
launches  out  promptly  into  a  string  of  sarcasms  which,  generally 
speaking,  are  likely  to  be  more  remarkable  for  their  grotesque 
imagery  and  energetic  phraseology,  than  for  their  stylistic  perfection 
and  classical  purity  of  diction.  In  Italy,  where  there  are  no  idle  and 
disdainful  courtiers  to  while  away  their  time  by  "purifying  the  lan 
guage",  and  where  no  one  would  dream  of  considering  his  dignity 
and  position  rather  than  simply  enjoying  himself,  the  number  of 
things  which  are  accounted  "coarse"  or  "in  bad  taste"  is  infinitely 
small;  and  so  it  comes  about  that  we  have  the  peculiar  colourfulness 
of  a  poet  like  Monti — poetry  which  is  certainly  noble,  and  which 
can  even  be  sublime,  but  which  is  yet  a  thousand  leagues  removed 
from  the  silly  scruples  and  timid  pruderies  of  the  Hdtel  de  Ram- 
bouillet  or  its  modern  equivalents.  If  you  desire  to  bring  out  the 


108  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

contrast,  compare  the  works  of  M.  1'abbe  Delille;  the  very  meaning 
of  the  word  noble  is  different  in  France  and  in  Italy. 

One  such  pedant,  a  full-blown  monstgnore1  by  trade,  who,  in  order 
to  badger  him  with  civilities,  had  tracked  him  down  right  into  the 
very  bedchamber  of  the  inn  where  he  was  staying,  and  had  effectively 
prevented  him  from  getting  out  of  bed,  received  the  following 
admonition:  "Ella  mi  vanta  per  mia  gloria  ...  you  are  pleased  to 
mention  my  celebrity;  yet  do  you  know,  my  lord  Bishop,  wherein 
lies  my  fundamental  claim  to  immortality?  I  will  tell  you:  it  is  because 
I  am  the  handsomest  man  alive!  Canova  has  promised  me  that,  one 
day,  he  will  use  me  as  a  model  for  a  statue  of  Achilles!" — saying 
which,  Rossini  leapt  eagerly  out  of  bed,  and  stood  before  the  dazed 
stare  of  that  noble  prelate  in  the  very  costume  in  which  Achilles  is 
usually  depicted,  and  whose  public  exhibition,  in  Italy,  is  considered 
monumentally  disrespectful.  "Observe,  my  Lord,  this  leg"  he  went 
on.  "When  a  man  possesses  a  limb  so  exquisitely  turned,  is  he  not 
certain  of  immortality?  ..."  The  remainder  of  the  harangue,  I  omit; 
for  once  launched  on  a  thoroughly  bad  joke,  Rossini  gets  drunk  with 
the  sound  of  his  own  voice,  intoxicated  with  the  wild  gusts  of 
laughter  which  are  inspired  by  his  own  grotesque  fancies;  he  seems 
to  be  inexhaustibly  fertile  in  the  invention  of  nonsensical  inanities, 
which  usually  veer  rapidly  towards  the  obscene;  and  once  he  is  set  on 
that  course,  nothing  in  the  world  can  stop  him.  The  pedantic  prelate 
soon  discovered  that  there  was  no  alternative  but  to  retreat. 

Composing,  according  to  Rossini,  is  mere  child's-play;  the  real 
drudgery  of  the  job  comes  with  rehearsal  Then  begins  the  agony,  for 
on  such  distressing  occasions  the  poor  maestro  has  to  endure  the 
torments  of  the  damned,  as,  one  by  one,  he  hears  his  most  inspired 
ideas,  his  most  brilliant,  his  suavest  cantilenas,  distorted  and  dis 
figured  in  every  key  the  human  voice  can  embrace.  "It  is  quite 
enough,"  Rossini  maintains,  "to  make  one  want  to  boo  oneself  out 
of  the  profession  for  good  and  all."  Invariably,  after  each  rehearsal, 
he  falls  into  a  fit  of  black  depression,  utterly  disgusted  with  music 
which,  only  the  previous  day,  had  seemed  delightful. 

Nevertheless,  these  rehearsal-sessions,  painful  as  they  must  be  for 
any  sensitive  young  composer,  are  to  my  mind  symbolic,  for  they 
reflect  the  triumph  of  Italian  musical  sensibility.  On  such  occasions, 

1  Bishop. 


THE  IMPRESARIO  109 

gathered  together  around  some  evil,  broken-backed  piano  in  a 
decrepit  shanty,  known  as  the  ridotto,  belonging  to  the  local  theatre 
of  some  unspeakable  little  provincial  town — say  Reggio  or  Velletri — 
I  have  watched  eight  or  ten  fourth-rate,  down-at-heel  opera-singers 
proceeding  to  rehearsal,  invariably  to  the  accompaniment  of  a  full 
concerto  for  saucepans  and  roasting-jack  from  some  neighbouring 
kitchen,  and,  under  such  appalling  circumstances,  both  experience 
and  express  the  subtlest  and  the  most  intimately  moving  emotional 
nuances  of  which  the  art  of  music  is  capable;  and  it  is  precisely  on 
occasions  such  as  these  that  we  cold  Northerners  must  stand  amazed 
to  see  a  plain  set  of  ignorant  dolts,  all  totally  incapable  of  picking 
out  a  simple  waltz  on  the  piano,  or  of  telling  the  difference  between 
one  key  and  the  next,  singing  and  accompanying  by  instinct  alone, 
and  with  such  magnificent  brio,  music  which  is  new,  original  and 
completely  unfamiliar  to  them,  and  which,  in  fact,  the  maestro  him 
self  composes,  alters  and  re-arranges  before  their  very  eyes  while 
they  are  actually  in  course  of  rehearsal.  They  make  countless  mis 
takes,  of  course;  but  in  music,  mistakes  which  are  due  to  over- 
enthusiasm  are  soon  forgotten  and  forgiven — as  quickly  as  the  lover 
forgives  his  mistress  faults  which  arise  from  loving  too  well.  I,  per 
sonally,  was  completely  fascinated  by  these  sessions;  however,  I  have 
no  doubt  that  M.  Berton  (de  rinstitut)  would  have  found  them 
scandalousl 

No  truly  honest  observer,  venturing  into  Italy  from  abroad,  could 
dare  for  one  instant  to  deny  the  hopeless  absurdity  of  presuming  to 
train  singers  or  composers  elsewhere  than  under  the  shadow  of 
Vesuvius.1  In  this  land,  which  is  the  very  homeland  of  beauty,  the 
child  at  the  breast  is  lulled  to  sleep  with  singing;  nor  are  the  songs  it 
hears  mere  nursery-rhymes  like  Malbrouck  s'en  va-t-en  guerre  or 
Cest  I'amour,  Vamour.  Beneath  a  burning  sky,  oppressed  by  an 
inexorable  tyranny  under  whose  dark  shadow  all  speech  is  perilous, 
joy  and  despair  alike  find  expression  far  more  naturally  through  the 
complaint  and  burden  of  a  song  than  through  the  writing  of  a  letter. 
The  only  subject  of  conversation  is  music;  the  only  opinions  one 
dare  hold,  or  express  with  the  least  semblance  of  fire  and  frankness, 
are  opinions  which  concern  music.  Everybody  without  exception, 
however,  does  read  and  write  one  thing,  namely,  satirical  sonnets 
1  Tu  regere  imperio  populos,  Romans,  memento.  Virgil. 


110  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

composed  in  the  local  dialect,1  and  directed  against  the  Governor  of 
the  city;  whereupon  the  Governor,  given  the  first  opportunity, 
retaliates  by  locking  up  every  poet  in  the  neighbourhood,  on  a 
charge  of  carbonarism.  This  is  literal  fact,  completely  devoid  of 
exaggeration;  I  could  quote  a  score  of  names  and  cases,  if  it  were 
prudent  to  do  so.  All  the  same,  reciting  satirical  sonnets  aimed  at  the 
Governor  or  the  King  is  far  less  dangerous  than  discussing  political 
theory  or  arguing  about  historical  problems.  For  should  the  abbe***9 
or  the  Cav.  di  M***,  or  whomever  the  police  may  happen  to  be 
employing  as  their  local  informer  at  any  given  moment,  return  to  the 
Chief  of  Police  (who,  in  most  instances,  is  an  intelligent  man,  usually 
a  renegade  liberal),  and  report  to  him  the  bare  bones  of  some  argu 
ment  which  he  claims  to  have  overheard,  and  which  seems  to  hang 
together  more  or  less  adequately,  and  to  offer  some  semblance  of 
rational  logic,  this  very  fact  furnishes  all  the  evidence  that  is  required, 
and  the  case  against  the  victims  is  complete;  for  the  informers,  the 
abbe  ***,  the  Cav.  di  M***,  etc.,  are  so  fantastically  and  inconceiv 
ably  uneducated,  that  it  is  manifestly  impossible  that  they  should 
have  invented  any  such  argument  out  of  their  own  heads!  The  sequel 
is  inevitable:  the  Prefect  of  Police  summons  you  into  his  presence, 
and  gravely  accuses  you  "of  having  conspired  against  my  master  the 
Governor  by  having  presumed  to  talkl"2 

On  the  other  hand,  since  the  sin  of  dabbling  in  satirical  sonnets  of 
a  topical  character  is  practically  universal;  and  since  the  subject- 
matter  in  general  does  not  usually  transcend  the  known  (limited) 
intellectual  ability  of  the  informer  to  grasp  its  rudimentary  outlines ; 
it  follows  that  anybody  may  reasonably  plead  calumny  in  his  defence. 

When  we  last  saw  Rossini,  he  was  busy  directing  rehearsals  of  his 
latest  opera  to  the  accompaniment  of  an  abominable  piano  in  the 
ridotto  of  some  wretched  theatre  in  some  third-rate  town  such  as 
Pavia  or  Imola.  If  it  is  true  that  this  dismal  little  penthouse  is  the 
revered  sanctuary  of  unadulterated  musical  genius,  the  very  holy-of- 
holies  of  pure  aesthetic  enthusiasm,  devoid  alike  of  bombastic  pre 
tensions  and  of  any  sense  of  the  absurd,  it  is  likewise  true  that  this 

1  Eg.  Sonnet,  by  ...  (Reggio);  Count  Prim's  Vision  (Milan,  1816);  Satirical 
Poems,  by  Buratti  (Venice),  etc. 

2  Pescano  in  quel  che  dite.  "The  citizens  under  my  jurisdiction  are  guilty  of 
potentially  seditious  activities;  the  fact  that  you  have  been  talking  proves  it!" — 
this  accusation  is  historically  true,  and  dates  from  1819. 


THE  IMPRESARIO  111 

same  unmentionable  piano  is  the  focal  point  about  which  the  most 
fantastical  ambitions  and  the  most  inglorious  squabbles,  fired  by  the 
most  naive  and  the  most  utterly  outrageous  vanity,  are  shamelessly 
unleashed.  In  the  midst  of  all  which,  of  course,  it  is  not  unknown  for 
the  piano  itself  to  disintegrate,  having  been  physically  battered  to 
smithereens,  each  separate  smithereen  then  becoming  a  missile  for 
hurling  at  the  head  of  some  detested  rival!  I  strongly  advise  any 
traveller  in  Italy  who  has  any  claim  to  be  considered  a  genuine  lover 
of  art  to  witness  this  noble  spectacle.  The  private  lives  of  the  com 
pany  (it  goes  without  saying)  furnish  an  inexhaustible  supply  of 
gossip  for  the  entire  community,  whose  eventual  pleasure,  or  the 
contrary,  during  the  most  exciting  month  out  of  all  the  months  in  the 
year,  must  depend  wholly  upon  the  success  or  failure  of  the  new 
opera.  When  a  town  falls  under  the  spell  of  this  intoxication,  the  rest 
of  the  world  may  roll  by  unnoticed;  moreover,  during  these  anxious 
crises  of  uncertainty,  the  role  of  the  impresario  is  most  exquisitely 
gratifying  to  his  vanity,  for  he  is,  literally,  the  Most  Important 
Personage  in  all  the  land.  I  have  known  skinflint  bankers  happily 
fling  away  a  round  sum  of  fifteen  hundred  golden  louis,  and  write  off 
the  deficit  as  money  well  lost  in  the  purchase  of  so  flattering  an 
eminence.  The  poet  Sografi  has  written  a  charming  little  play  in  one 
act,  based  on  the  adventures  and  the  vanities  of  an  operatic  company 
of  this  type;  among  the  characters  involved,  I  remember  especially  a 
German  tenor  without  a  word  of  Italian  who  provides  the  most 
uproarious  comedy,  and  the  whole  thing  is  worthy  of  Regnard,  or 
even  of  Shakespeare.  The  entire  set-up,  in  the  life  and  the  flesh,  is  so 
utterly  outrageous,  so  fantastic  the  sight  of  these  Italian  opera- 
singers,  all  drunk  with  the  divine  fire  and  the  passion  of  music, 
squabbling  like  children  over  the  prerogatives  of  their  immortal 
vanity,  that  the  dramatist's  main  concern  must  have  been  to  dilute 
the  extravagance  of  his  raw  material,  to  water  it  down  by  three  parts 
at  least,  and  somehow  to  constrict  it  within  the  narrow  limits  of 
truth,  probability  and  nature,  rather  than  to  add  touches  of  artificial 
dramatization.  The  most  faithful  of  portraits,  sketched  with  the 
severest  eye  to  realism,  must  necessarily  have  appeared  nothing  but 
a  caricature  of  the  most  fantastic  improbability. 

Marchesi  (the  famous  Milanese  male-soprano),  during  the  latter 
part  of  his  stage  career,  refused  point-blank  to  sing  at  all  unless  his 


112  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

first  entry  in  the  opening  scene  of  the  opera  were  made  either  on 
horseback,  or  else  on  the  top  of  a  hill.  Furthermore,  whichever 
alternative  was  eventually  agreed  upon,  the  cascade  of  plumes  which 
surmounted  his  helmet  was  required  to  be  at  least  six  feet  high.  In  our 
own  time,  Crivelli  still  refuses  to  sing  his  opening  aria,  unless  the 
librettist  agrees  to  provide  him  with  the  words  felice  ognora,  which 
are  particularly  convenient  for  the  execution  of  certain  series  of 
roulades. 

But  we  are  in  danger  of  forgetting  all  about  our  little  Italian  town 
ship,  which  we  last  beheld  tense  with  anxiety,  one  might  almost  say 
possessed  with  frenzy — the  frenzy  which  heralds  the  great  day  of  the 
premiere  of  its  own  specially-composed  opera. 

The  critical  evening  arrives  at  last.  The  maestro  takes  his  seat  at  the 
piano;  the  auditorium  is  stuffed  to  bursting-point.  The  crowds  have 
come  pouring  in  from  every  town  and  village  within  twenty  miles' 
radius;  enthusiasts  bivouac  in  their  open  carriages  in  the  middle  of 
the  streets;  the  inns  have  been  overflowing  ever  since  the  previous 
day,  and  the  customary  Italian  courtesy  of  these  establishments  is 
showing  a  tendency  to  wear  a  bit  thin.  Everyone  has  downed  tools 
long  ago.  As  the  hour  of  the  performance  draws  near,  the  town  seems 
like  a  deserted,  hollow  shell;  the  passions,  the  wavering  hopes  and 
fears,  the  entire  life  of  a  whole  thriving  population  is  focused  upon 
the  theatre. 

As  the  overture  begins,  you  could  hear  a  pin  drop;  as  it  bangs  its 
way  triumphantly  to  an  end,  the  din  bursts  with  unbelievable  vio 
lence.  It  is  extolled  to  high  heaven;  or  alternately,  it  is  whistled,  nay 
rather  howled  into  eternity  with  merciless  shrieks  and  ululations. 
There  is  no  parallel  in  Paris,  where  cautious  vanity  anxiously  eyes  a 
neighbouring  vanity  beside  it;1  these  are  men  possessed  of  seven 
devils,  determined  at  all  costs,  by  dint  of  shrieking,  stamping  and 
battering  with  their  canes  against  the  backs  of  the  seats  in  front,  to 
enforce  the  triumph  of  their  opinion,  and  above  all,  to  prove  that, 
come  what  may,  none  but  their  opinion  is  correct ;  for,  in  all  the  world, 
there  is  no  intolerance  like  that  of  a  man  of  artistic  sensibility.  If 
ever  you  chance  to  meet,  in  artistic  company,  an  individual  who 
seems  fair-minded  and  reasonable,  change  the  subject  quickly;  talk 
to  him  about  history,  or  about  political  economy,  or  about  some 
1  All  first-nights  are  grim  and  chilly  at  the  Theatre  Louvois. 


THE  IMPRESARIO  113 

related  topic;  for  whereas  there  is  every  possibility  that  he  may  one 
day  turn  out  to  be  a  distinguished  magistrate,  a  fine  doctor,  a  good 
husband,  an  excellent  academician,  or  indeed  whatever  you  will,  he 
can  never  become  a  true  connoisseur  of  music  or  painting.  Never. 

Each  aria  of  the  new  opera,  in  its  turn,  is  listened  to  in  perfect 
silence;  after  which,  the  cataclysm  is  let  loose  once  more;  and  the 
bellowing  of  a  storm-tormented  sea  is  nothing  but  the  feeblest  com 
parison.  The  audience  makes  its  opinion  of  the  singers  on  the  one 
hand,  and  of  the  composer  on  the  other,  distinctly  audible.  There  are 
cries  of  Bravo  Davide!  Bravo  Pisaronil,  or  on  other  occasions,  the 
whole  theatre  will  echo  with  daemonic  shrieks  of  Bravo  maestro! 
Rossini  rises  from  his  seat  at  the  piano,  his  handsome  face  assuming 
an  unwonted  expression  of  gravity.  He  bows  thrice,  submitting  to 
storms  of  applause,  and  deafened  by  a  most  unlikely  variety  of 
acclamations,  for  whole  sentences  of  adulation  may  be  flung  at  his 
unresisting  head;  after  which,  the  company  proceeds  to  the  next 
item. 

Rossini  always  appears  in  person  at  the  piano  for  the  first  three 
nights  of  each  new  opera;  but,  at  the  conclusion  of  this  statutory 
period,  having  received  his  salary  of  seventy  sequins  (about  eight 
hundred  francs)  and  attended  a  grand  farewell  dinner  given  in  his 
honour  by  all  his  new  friends  (that  is  to  say,  by  the  entire  population 
of  the  town)  he  at  length  drives  away  in  a  vettura,  his  bags  up  beside 
him  stuffed  far  more  tightly  with  music  than  with  personal  belong 
ings,  only  to  begin  the  same  procedure  all  over  again  at  the  next  port 
of  call,  perhaps  forty  miles  distant.  Normally,  on  the  evening  of  the 
premiere,  he  writes  a  letter  to  his  mother,  sending  her,  for  her  own 
use  and  for  that  of  his  old  father,  two-thirds  of  the  meagre  salary 
which  he  has  been  paid.  When  all  is  said  and  done,  he  is  lucky  to 
have  as  much  as  eight  or  ten  sequins  in  his  pocket;  yet  it  needs  no 
more  to  make  him  the  happiest  of  mortals,  and  if  heaven  but  grant 
him  on  the  road  to  fall  in  with  a/007,  the  urge  to  play  practical  jokes 
grows  supremely  irresistible.  On  one  occasion,  when  he  was  driving 
in  a  vettura  from  Ancona  to  Reggio,  he  pretended  to  be  a  music- 
master  possessed  of  the  bitterest  undying  hatred  towards  Rossini, 
and  spent  the  whole  journey  singing  the  most  execrable  tunes  (which 
he  invented  on  the  spur  of  the  moment)  to  the  words  of  his  own  most 
famous  arias— tunes  which  he  then  proceeded  to  hold  up  to  general 


114  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

scorn  and  ridicule  as  examples  of  the  "so-called  masterpieces"  of 
that  "unmentionable  toad  Rossini",  whom  certain  tasteless  indi 
viduals  were  imbecile  enough  to  call  a  genius!*  Incidentally,  nothing 
was  further  removed  from  mere  vanity  on  Rossini's  part  than  his 
thus  turning  the  conversation  into  musical  channels;  in  Italy,  there  is 
no  subject  with  greater  popular  appeal,  and  conversation,  after  a 
brief  reference'  to  Napoleon,  reverts  inevitably  to  this  one  obsessing 
topic. 


CHAPTER  VII 

Of  the  Wars  between  Harmony  and  Melody 

LT  this  point,  I  must  beg  the  reader's  permission  to  intrude  with  a 
digression,  which  may  help  considerably  to  abridge  the  discussions  to 
which  we  shall  shortly  be  introduced  as  we  follow  Rossini  in  his 
stormy  career,  and  as  we  recall  the  quarrels  which  gathered  about 
him  as  soon  as  the  pedants  found  him  sufficiently  successful  to 
honour  with  their  vituperation — whereupon  all  other  composers, 
great  and  small  alike,  banded  together  against  him. 

It  was  in  Bologna  that  the  storms  of  jealousy  first  began  to  gather 
about  Rossini's  head;  and,  once  aroused,  made  it  impossible  for  him 
to  repeat  the  easy  successes  of  earlier  days. 

Rossini  has  always  flouted  the  pedants;  none  the  less,  despite  his 
sneers  at  individuals,  the  tribe  as  a  whole  has  managed  to  exert  no 
inconsiderable  influence  upon  his  work ;  and  that  influence  has  proved 
fatal. 

In  order  to  analyse  the  somewhat  vague  connotation  which  critics 
of  all  nations  have  attributed  to  the  word  taste,  it  is  a  fairly  common 
trick  to  go  back  to  the  most  elementary  meaning  of  the  term.  Prop 
erly  speaking,  the  "pleasures  of  taste"  are  the  sensations  experienced 
by  a  child  which  has  been  given  a  ripe  peach  by  its  mother, 

I  intend,  in  order  to  further  the  art  of  musical  appreciation,  to 
follow  up  the  phenomenon  of  the  child's  delight  in  its  ripe  peach;  for 
soon  enough  it  will  begin  to  lose  this  primitive  taste  for  sweet  and 
sickly  delicacies ;  I  can  visualize  this  same  child,  now  grown  up  into  a 
strapping  lad  of  sixteen,  gulping  down  beer  with  the  greatest  of 
relish,  notwithstanding  the  taste  of  the  brew,  which  is  bitterish,  and 
at  first  fairly  revolting,  but  in  the  end  stimulating.  The  student, 
eagerly  clamouring  for  beer  after  violent  exercise,  would  simply  be 
nauseated  by  the  sickliness  of  anything  sweet  and  sugary. 

A  few  years  later  still,  this  acquired  taste  for  astringents  wiH  no 
longer  stop  short  at  beer;  the  distaste  our  young  man  feels  for  what 


116  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

he  would  now  call  insipidity  drives  him  to  indulge  in  a  German 
speciality  called  sauerkraut,  which  outlandish  word  merely  signifies 
sour  cabbage.  The  distance  between  this,  and  the  peach,  whose  tempt 
ing  smell  made  Ms  mouth  water  at  the  age  of  three,  is  incalculable. 
To  round  off  my  analogy  with  a  few  nobler  instances,  I  would  remind 
the  reader  that  Voltaire's  friend  Frederick  the  Great,  in  his  old  age, 
developed  so  passionate  a  liking  for  spiced  and  highly-seasoned 
dishes,  that  the  honour  of  dining  at  the  King's  table  grew  to  be  some 
thing  of  a  torture  for  those  young  French  officers,  whom  fashion  had 
brought  to  the  elegant  reviews  at  Potsdam. 

As  a  man  ever  grows  older,  so,  gradually,  he  loses  the  taste  for 
fruit  and  other  sweet  things  which  had  been  his  delight  in  childhood, 
developing  instead  a  craving  for  tastes  with  bite  and  strength  in  them. 
Brandy  would  be  torture  for  a  six-year-old,  were  it  not  counter 
balanced  by  the  joy  and  pride  at  being  allowed  to  drink  out  of 
Daddy's  glass! 

This  ever-growing  passion  for  all  that  is  sharp  and  stimulating, 
this  increasing  distaste  for  all  that  is  sugary  and  insipid,  offers  an 
exact,  if  somewhat  vulgar,  analogy  with  the  revolution  in  musical 
taste  which  took  place  between  1730  and  1823.  The  charm  of  simple 
melody  may  be  compared  with  the  sweetness  of  some  luscious  fruit, 
which  all  children  adore.  Harmony,  on  the  other  hand,  is  the  musical 
equivalent  of  those  sharp,  stimulating,  highly-seasoned  dishes  which 
the  jaded  palate  of  middle-age  craves  to  satisfy  its  blase  sensibility. 
It  was  in  Naples,  in  the  neighbourhood  of  the  year  1730,  that 
composers  such  as  Leo,1  Vinci,2  and  Pergolese3  devised  the  suavest 
arias,  the  most  lilting  melodies,  the  most  luscious  cantilenas  which 
have  ever  bewitched  the  human  ear. 

1  Composer  of  that  sublime  aria  which  stands  alone  among  all  the  music  of 
this  earlier  period,  Miser o  pargoletto  (from  the  opera  Demophon*). 

2  Vide:  Artaserse  (based  on  Metastasio),  which  is  Vinci's  masterpiece. 

3  The  aria:  Se  cerca,  se  dice*  remains  even  to-day  unsurpassed  as  an  example 
of  music  in  the  pathetic  style.  It  belongs  to  the  opera  VOlimpiade.  La  Serva 
Padrona  is  an  admirable  opera  buffa:  if  you  added  a  new  set  of  accompaniments, 
and  took  out  some  of  the  recitatives,  all  Paris  would  flock  to  see  it  to-morrow. 
Foreigners  have  a  great  advantage  over  ourselves :  Pergolese's  music  escapes  from 
the  absurd  category  of  the  out-moded.  Our  grandfathers,  as  they  appear  in  their 
portraits,  with  their  coats  all  embroidered  in  the  fashion  of  Louis  XV's  time,  seem 
plainly  ridiculous;  but  our  remoter  ancestors,  with  their  doublet-and-hose  and  the 
armour  which  it  was  customary  to  wear  in  the  days  of  Francois  I,  are  invested 
with  a  splendid  aura  of  romantic  mystery,  as  they  gaze  severely  down  upon  us 
from  their  vast  portraits. 


HARMONY  AND  MELODY  117 

But  between  1730  and  1823,1  the  musical  public,  following  a  line 
of  development  parallel  to  that  of  a  child  which  grows  first  into  a 
brilliant  young  man,  and  later  into  a  blase  old  dotard,  has  grown  to 
be  nauseated  by  things  which  are  smooth  and  sweet,  instead  craving 
ever  more  urgently  for  things  which  are  rasping  and  harsh.  Setting 
aside  its  ripe  and  luscious  peaches,  it  has,  so  to  speak,  besieged  the 
great  composers  who  supply  it  with  sustenance,  clamouring  for 
sauerkraut,  curry  and  kirschwasser,  and  offering  them  fame  and  glory 
in  payment  for  goods  received.  I  am  only  too  well  aware  that  these 
analogies  are  not  exactly  noble;  but  at  least  they  seem  clear. 

This  revolution,  which  occupies  a  period  of  some  ninety  years  in 
the  annals  of  the  spirit  of  man,  has  passed  through  a  whole  series  of 
quite  distinct  phases.  Where  will  it  stop?  I  cannot  tell;  I  only  know 
this  much,  that  each  phase  (and  each  one  has  lasted  some  twelve  or 
fifteen  years,  corresponding  more  or  less  with  the  vogue  of  some 
popular  composer)  has  witnessed  the  belief  that  the  end  of  the  revo 
lution  was  at  hand. 

I  too,  therefore,  am  probably  just  as  much  the  dupe  of  my  own 
immediate  senses  as  any  of  my  predecessors,  when  I  maintain  that 
the  perfect  equilibrium  between  the  ancient  craft  of  melody  and  the 
modern  craft  of  harmony  was  achieved  by  Rossini  and  exemplified 
in  the  style  ofTancredi.  The  magician  who  bewitched  me  as  a  young 
man  with  the  most  entrancing  delights  I  ever  knew,  has  cast  a  spell 
upon  me,  making  me,  by  reaction,  unjust  towards  la  Gazza  ladra 
and  Otello,  which  are  less  caressing,  less  enchanting  to  the  senses,  but 
more  stimulating,  and  (perhaps)  more  dynamic. 

Henceforward,  whenever  I  use  the  words  delightful,  sublime, 
perfect,  etc.,  I  beg  the  reader  to  bear  in  mind  this  "profession  of 
faith".  In  my  cooler  moments  of  philosophical  reflection  and  respect 
for  the  dry  judiciousness  of  others,  I  fully  realize  the  absurdity  which 
may  attach  to  such  words;  nevertheless,  I  employ  them  for  the  sake 
of  convenience. 

It  is  customary  in  France  to  distinguish  a  certain  shade  of  political 
opinion  by  calling  a  man  un  patriote  de  1789?  in  the  same  style,  I 

1 1  omit  minor  historical  details,  which,  by  distracting  the  reader's  attention 
from  what  is  essential,  would  blur  the  clear  general  outline  which  I  am  trying  to 
indicate. 

2  Literally,  apatriot  in  the  style  of  1789,  i.e.  a  man  of  unadulterated  revolutionary 
fervour,  uncontammated  by  the  influence  of  later  and  more  sordid  events  (Trans.) 


118  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

denounce  myself  as  a  Rossiniste  de  18151  This  was  the  year  in  which 
Italy  granted  its  most  fervent  admiration  to  the  style  and  the  music 
of  Tancredi.1 

However,  I  suspect  that  a  music-lover  of  the  vintage,  say,  of  1780, 
who  had  quite  rightly  learned  to  appreciate  the  style  of  Paesiello  and 
Cimarosa  above  all  others,  would  find  Tancredi  just  as  noisy  and  as 
over-orchestrated  as  I  find  Otello  and  la  Gazza  ladra. 

Far  from  laying  claim  to  any  absurd  and  impracticable  ideal  of 
impartiality  in  art,  I  boldly  proclaim  a  principle  which,  incidentally, 
appear  to  be  highly  fashionable  at  the  moment:  I  declare  that  I  am 
thoroughly  biased.  Impartiality  in  art,  like  reasonableness  in  love,  is 
the  prerogative  of  a  frigid  disposition  and  a  luke-warm  temperament. 
In  consequence,  I  insist  on  being  partial,  as  far  as  is  consonant  with 
the  duties  of  a  comparatively  good-natured  critic.  The  distinction  is, 
that  I  have  no  craving  actually  to  hang  anyone,  not  even  Herr  Maria 
Weber,  the  author  of  der  Freischutz,  that  Teutonic  opera  which  is  at 
the  present  moment  evoking  such  unbridled  and  hysterical  enthusi 
asm  on  the  banks  of  the  rivers  Spree  and  Oder. 

In  the  eyes  of  any  ardent  partisan  of  der  Freischutz,  I  must  seem  a 
typical  ancient  phogey  with  an  infinite  capacity  for  declining  to  be 
bored,  who  probably  nurtures  some  secret,  esoteric  reason  of  his  own 
to  explain  his  cult  of  the  primitive  and  the  barbaric.  Such  a  person 
would  probably  describe  me  in  the  sort  of  terms — embellished  to  a 
greater  or  lesser  degree  with  euphemisms,  depending  on  the  class  of 
the  critic — which  I  am  in  the  habit  of  employing  to  state  my  own 
opinion  concerning  the  kind  of  people  who,  around  1750,  could 
manage  to  find  fascination  in  the  interminable  recitatives  of  some 
"comic"  opera  by  Galuppi. 

To  make  myself  quite  plain,  I  suppose  that  the  best  thing  that  I 
could  do  would  be  set  out,  here  and  now,  a  list  of  all  those  "miracul 
ous  geniuses"  successively  acclaimed  in  Italy  as  revolutionaries  who 
have  pushed  their  art  to  the  farthest  frontiers  which  it  is  capable  of 
attaining,  and  who  have  achieved  unsurpassable  perfection  in  the 
realm  of  the  Beautiful. 

On  the  appearance  of  each  new  genius,  violent — and  of  course 

1  In  music,  just  as  in  literature,  a  work  may  be  excellent  in  style  and  plati 
tudinous  in  content — or  vice  versa.  I  prefer  Rossini  as  a  stylist,  although  I  find 
more  genius  in  Cimarosa.  The  first-act  finale  of  Cimarosa' s  //  Matrimonio 
segreto  is  an  example  of  perfection  in  both  form  and  content. 


HARMONY  AND  MELODY  119 

insoluble— quarrels  break  out  between  the  middle-aged  in  their 
forties,  who  remember  better  days,  and  the  younger  generation  in 
their  twenties;  for  any  composer  of  talent  always  writes  in  the  style 
(i.e.,  with  a  given  proportion  of  melody  to  harmony)  which  he 
happens  to  find  in  vogue  at  the  moment  of  his  entry  upon  the  theatre 
of  the  world.1 

Here,  then,  is  the  list*  of  those  fashionable  composers,  whose 
names  have  all,  in  due  course,  been  pounced  upon  by  their  immedi 
ate  successors  and  stigmatized  in  terms  of  the  vilest  abuse: 

Porpora  was  in  vogue  in  17102 

Durante  1718 

Leo  1725 
Galuppi,  nicknamed  il  Buranello,  because  he  was 
born  on  the  little  island  of  Burano,  a  cannon's- 

shot  from  Venice  1728 

Pergolese  1730 

Vinci  1730 

Hasse  1730 

Jomelli  1739 

Logroscino,  who  invented  the  finale  1739 

Guglielmi,  who  created  the  opera  buffa  1752 

Piccini  1753 

Sacchini  1760 

Sarti  1755 

Paesiello  1766 

Anfossi  1761 

Traetta  1763 

Zingarelli  1778 

Mayer  1800 

1  To  have  good  taste,  even  in  literature,  invariably  means  that  one  has  mastered 
the  secret  of  dressing  up  the  intellectual  content  of  one's  work  in  whatever  dis 
guise  may  chance  to  be  the  latest  fashion — or  rather,  in  whatever  happens  to  be 
the  latest  fashion  in  fashionable  society.  In  1786,  M.  1'abbe  Delille  represented  the 
very  acme  of  good  taste! 

2  Very  often  a  composer's  earliest  works  remain  his  most  satisfactory  achieve 
ments.  Musical  genius  tends  to  develop  extremely  young;  but  public  taste  needs 
a  good  four  or  five  years'  careful  training  before  a  new  composer  can  effectively 
cause  the  talents  of  his  immediate  predecessors  to  be  relegated  to  complete 
oblivion.  I  reckon  that  most  of  the  celebrated  composers  included  in  the  list  here 
set  out,  were  first  launched  upon  the  fashionable  period  of  their  career  at  an 
average  age  of  five-and-twenty. 


120  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

Cimarosa  1790 

Mosca  1800 

Paer  1802 

Pavesi  1802 

General!  1800 
Rossini } 
Mozart  J 

I  have  bracketed  the  last  two  names  together,  for,  under  the  com 
bined  influence  of  distance,  of  the  difficulty  experienced  in  reading 
Mozart's  scores,  and  of  the  average  Italian's  utter  scorn  for  any  artist 
of  foreign  origin,  it  may  legitimately  be  claimed  that  Mozart  and 
Rossini  made  their  debut  simultaneously  in  the  year  1812. 

To-day,  there  is  a  new  maestro  who  has  captured  the  whim  of 
fashion  and  who  has  outrivalled  the  creator  of  Tancredi;  this  new 
star  in  the  firmament  is  the  author  of  la  Gazza  ladra,  of  Zelmira, 
ofSemframide,  ofMoseinEgitto,  ofOtello  ...  the  Rossini  of  1820.1 

I  beg  that  I  may  be  allowed  to  draw  a  further  analogy. 

Two  majestic  rivers  may  have  their  sources  in  lands  widely  separ 
ated;  each  may  flow  through  regions  of  completely  varying  character; 
and  yet,  in  the  end,  the  waters  of  both  may  come  to  mingle  in  the 
same  stream.  If  you  wish  for  a  specific  example,  take  the  Rhdne  and 
the  Saone.  The  Rhone  comes  pouring  down  off  the  glaciers  of  the 
Saint-Gothard  range,  on  the  borders  of  Switzerland  and  Italy, 
whereas  the  Saone  draws  its  first  waters  from  the  north  of  France; 
the  Rhone  falls  in  a  series  of  cascades  and  rapids  down  the  narrow, 
picturesque  gorges  of  the  Valais,  whereas  the  Saone  waters  the  fertile 
plains  of  Burgundy.  Yet,  beneath  the  walls  of  Lyon,  these  two  great 
streams  eventually  meet  and  mingle,  to  form  that  swift  and  majestic 

1  Here  are  the  exact  dates  of  some  of  the  major  composers  of  recent  times : 
Alessandro  Scarlatti,  born  at  Messina  in  1650,  died  in  1730  (the  founder  of 
modern  music);  Bach,  1685-1750;  Porpora,  1685-1767;  Durante,  1663-1755; 
Leo,  1694-1745;  Galuppi,  1703-1785;  Pergolese,  1704-1737;  Handel,  1684-1759; 
Vinci,  1705-1732;  Hasse,  1705-1783;  Jomelli,  1714-1774;  Benda,  d.  1714; 
Guglielmi,  1727-1804;  Piccini,  1728-1800;  Sacchini,  1735-1786;  Sarti,  1730-1802; 
Paesiello,  1741-1815;  Anfossi,  1736-1775;  Traetta,  1738-1779;  Zingarelli,  b.  1752; 
Mayer,  b.  1760;  Cimarosa,  1754-1801;  Mozart,  1756-1792;  Rossini,  b.  1791; 
Beethoven,  b.  1772;  Paer,  b.  1774;  Pavesi,  b.  1785;  Mosca,  b.  1778;  Generali, 
b.  1786;  Morlachi,  b.  1788;  Pacini,  b.  1800;  Caraffa,  b.  1793;  Mercadante, 
b.  1800;  Kreutzer  (of  Vienna),  b.  1800  (the  hope  and  promise  of  the  German 
school). 

[These  dates  are  not  all  accurate  Cf.  Index.  (Trans.)] 


HARMONY  AND  MELODY  121 

river,  the  finest  in  all  France,  which  rushes  swirling  beneath  the 
arches  of  the  Pont-Saint-Esprit,  and  can  awaken  terror  in  the  breasts 
of  the  very  boldest  of  pilots. 

This  description  exactly  befits  the  history  of  the  two  greatest 
schools  of  music,  the  German  and  the  Italian;  they  originate  in  towns 
separated  from  each  other  by  an  immense  distance,  Dresden  and 
Naples.  Alessandro  Scarlatti  founded  the  Italian  school;  the  German 
school  was  created  by  Bach.1 

These  two  great  streams  of  divergent  opinions  and  distinctive 
pleasures,  which  in  our  own  time  are  represented  by  Rossini  and 
Weber  respectively,  seem  now  to  be  on  the  point  of  mingling,  to  form 
eventually  one  single  school;  and  in  all  probability,  this  ever-memor 
able  coalition  is  about  to  take  place  under  our  very  eyes,  in  this  not 
able  city  of  Paris,  which,  despite  every  threat  from  the  censorship  on 
the  one  hand,  and  from  austerity  (political  and  economic)  on  the 
other,  is  now  more  than  ever  before  the  Capital  of  Europe? 

Since  fate  has  chosen  to  place  us  on  the  very  brink  of  this  great 
meeting-place,  planting  us  high  upon  the  promontory  which  still 
separates  the  two  majestic  torrents,  let  us  observe  these  water-masses 
in  their  last  heaving  floods,  in  their  last  swirling  torrents,  before  they 
are  lost  in  each  other  for  ever. 

On  the  one  hand,  we  see  Rossini  producing  Zelmira  in  Vienna  in 
1823;  on  the  other,  Herr  Maria  Weber  triumphantly  acclaimed  in 
Berlin  on  the  same  day*  with  his  production  of  der  Freischutz. 

In  the  Italian  tradition  as  it  was  in  1815,  and  more  specifically,  in 
the  opera  Tancredi  (which  I  have  chosen  as  a  typical  product  to  illus 
trate  the  characteristics  of  this  school,  so  as  to  avoid  any  vague  or 
obscure  conception),  the  melodic  line  suffers  no  injury  from  its 
harmonic  accompaniment. 

Rossini  discovered  the  secret  of  selecting,  with  unerring  judgment, 
that  precise  degree  of  harmonic  chiaroscuro*  which  is  required  to 
provoke  a  gentle,  but  not  aggravating,  irritation  of  the  aural  nerves. 

1  I  have  no  intention  of  defending  every  single  detail  of  my  analogy  against 
potential  critics. 

2  If  this  prophecy  is  to  be  realized,  it  depends  admittedly  upon  the  fulfilment  of 
one  essential  condition:  the  reorganization,  on  more  or  less  rational  lines,  of  the 
Theatre  Louvois.  As  things  stand,  in  this  year  of  grace  1823,  it  would  appear  that 
the  secret  of  secrets  is  to  let  the  place  disintegrate  altogether.  Every  attempt  is 
being  made  to  fill  us  with  undying  nausea  for  Otello,  Romeo,  Tancredi,  etc.;  what 
is  needed  is  Madame  Fodor,  and  a  new  tenor. 


122  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

This  word  irritation,  which.  I  have  just  employed,  is  borrowed  from 
the  vocabulary  of  the  physiologists.  Experiments  have  shown  that 
(in  Europe  at  least)  the  aural  nerves  always  feel  the  need  to  come  to 
rest  upon  a  common  chord',  on  the  other  hand,  the  whole  aural  system 
is  irritated  by  dissonance  (carry  out  the  experiment  yourself  upon  the 
nearest  piano,  if  you  doubt  my  word),  and  in  such  cases,  a  return  to 
the  common  chord  grows  rapidly  into  an  overmastering  desire. 


CHAPTER  VIII 


Of  the  Invasion  by  the  Blunt-Minded1 

and 
Of  the  Ideology  of  Music 


harmony  attract  notice  on  its  own  account,  dtstmcti&g 
our  attention  from  the  melody;  or  should  it  merely  increase  the 
effect  of  the  melody? 

Personally,  I  confess,  I  favour  the  last  solution.  I  have  observed 
that,  in  the  domain  of  art  generally,  all  the  really  superb  effects  are 
produced  through  one  medium  of  extreme  beauty,  and  not  by  a  whole 
series  of  manifestations  in  separate  media,  each  one  in  itself  of 
mediocre  beauty.  Human  emotions  tend  to  remain  obstinately  tepid 
when  their  reactions  are  interrupted  by  the  necessity  of  choosing 
between  two  different  categories  of  pleasure,  each  of  a  different 
quality.  If  I  were  to  feel  the  urge  to  listen  to  a  resplendent  display  of 
pure  harmony,  I  should  go  and  hear  a  symphony  by  Haydn,  Mozart 
or  Beethoven;  but  if  I  were  to  desire  melody,  I  should  turn  to  il 
Matrimonio  Segreto  or  to  il  Re  Teodoro.  If  I  wanted  to  enjoy  both 
these  pleasures  simultaneously  (insofar  as  it  is  physically  possible  to 
do  so)  I  should  pay  a  visit  to  la  Scala  for  a  performance  of  Don 
Giovanni  or  Tancredi.  But  I  confess  that,  if  I  were  to  plunge  any 
deeper  than  this  into  the  back  night  of  harmony,  music  would  soon 
lose  the  overwhelming  charm  which  it  holds  for  me. 

It  requires  something  like  positive  genius  to  fail  to  write  a  melodic 
phrase  correctly;  but  there  is  nothing  easier  than  to  fall  down 
irredeemably  over  the  scoring  of  a  mere  ten  bars  of  harmony! 

Harmony  requires  scientific  knowledge.  This  requirement  in  itself 
has  proved  fatal,  for  it  has  provided  a  heaven-sent  excuse  for  all 
manner  of  fools  and  pedants  to  meddle  in  the  art  of  music. 

While  I  have  no  particular  wish  to  launch  a  spiteful  epigram 
against  the  learned  professions,  anyone  with  the  slightest  knowledge 

1  A  phrase  which  Stendhal  frequently  uses  in  English.  (Trans.) 


124  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

of  the  world  will  agree  with  me,  that  if  Voltaire's  masterly  Histoire 
de  Charles  XII  were  to  be  submitted  to-day,  anonymously,  for  the 
annual  prize  offered  by  the  Academic  des  Inscriptions,  the  members  of 
that  learned  body  would  find  nothing  worthier  of  comment  than  one 
or  two  inaccuracies  of  detail,  and,  for  all  its  most  delightful  quality,  it 
would  most  certainly  not  win  the  competition.  It  is  in  precisely  this 
same  spirit  that  our  musical  scholars  tend  to  analyse  the  works  of 
Rossini.  Yet  permit  me  to  do  them  justice;  their  insults  are  at  least 
offered  in  good  faith ! x 

The  science  of  singing,  as  it  is  envisaged  to-day  at  the  Conservatoire 
de  Paris,  teaches  how  to  produce  a  series  of  words  correctly  linked 
according  to  the  purest  rules  of  syntactical  grammar;  but  as  to  put 
ting  any  meaning  into  those  words . . . ! 

Rossini  on  the  other  hand,  overwhelmed  by  the  multiplicity  and 
the  vividness  of  all  those  infinitely  varied  shades  and  nuances  of 
emotion  which  come  crowding  all  at  once  into  his  mind,  has  been 
necessarily  guilty  of  a  certain  number  of  minor  grammatical  errors. 
In  the  original  scores,  he  has  nearly  always  noted  them  with  a 
cross  +>  adding  in  the  margin  the  comment:  per  soddisfazione  de' 
pedanti?  Any  competent  student,  after  six  months  training  at  the 
Conservatoire,  could  have  spotted  these  examples  of  sheer  careless 
ness,  which,  in  any  case,  are  in  certain  instances  deliberately 
experimental. 

So  what  remains  is  to  take  a  look  at  the  science  of  musical  gram 
mar  as  it  is  understood  to-day.  Are  Rossini's  errors  in  fact  real  errors? 
And  who  formulated  the  grammatical  rules  in  the  first  place? 
Musicians  whose  genius  was  unquestionably  superior  to  that  of 
Rossini?  This  is  not  a  case,  as  it  is  for  instance  in  linguistic  grammar, 
for  a  careful  study  of  colloquial  usage;  those  who  have  written  in  the 
language  of  music  are  far  too  few  in  number  for  there  to  exist, 
properly  speaking,  anything  in  the  nature  of  an  accepted  practice. 
Music  is  still  awaiting  the  coming  of  its  Lavoisier,  the  genius  who  will 
eventually  submit  the  whole  system  of  the  aural  nerves,  and  indeed 
the  human  heart  itself,  to  a  series  of  accurate  scientific  tests  and 
experiments.  Everyone  is  aware  that  the  sound  of  a  saw  being  sharp 
ened,  or  of  a  piece  of  cork  being  cut,  or  even  of  a  sheet  of  paper 

1  Cf.  VAbeille  (1821);  laPandore  (23  My  and  12  August  1823). 

2  For  the  satisfaction  of  the  pedants. 


IDEOLOGY  OF  MUSIC  125 

crumpled  in  the  hand,  is  quite  enough  for  certain  people,  and  can 
easily  set  a  peculiarly  delicate  nervous  system  completely  on  edge. 

However,  there  do  exist  certain  contrasts,  or  harmonies,  of  sound, 
which,  as  distinct  from  the  unpleasant  reaction  produced  by  the 
squeal  of  cut  cork  or  the  squeak  of  crumpled  paper,  inspire  sensa 
tions  which  are  categorically  agreeable. 

This  musical  physicist  to  whom  I  have  just  referred,*  this  new 
Lavoisier,  whom  I  have  potentially  endowed  with  a  remarkably 
sensitive  nervous  system  in  respect  of  such  phenomena,  will  need  to 
devote  himself  to  a  series  of  experiments  protracted  over  many  years, 
from  which,  in  the  end,  he  will  be  enabled  to  work  out  the  laws  of 
music  by  a  process  of  pure  logical  deduction. 

In  this  noble  treatise,  under  the  heading  Anger,  for  instance,  we 
should  find  a  table  setting  out  those  twenty  cantilenas  which,  in  his 
opinion,  most  satisfactorily  express  this  particular  emotion;  similarly 
under  the  headings  Jealousy,  Requited  Love,  Torments  of  Separation, 
etc.,  etc. 

It  frequently  happens  that  an  accompaniment  will  manage  to  evoke 
in  our  imagination  some  finer  shade  of  emotion  which  the  voice 
unaided  is  not  able  to  express. 

The  superior  being  whose  existence  we  are  postulating  would 
therefore  be  obliged  to  tabulate  the  series  of  arias,  previously  selected 
as  illustrative  of  the  most  adequate  expression  of  the  emotion  of 
Anger,  in  the  context  of  their  accompaniments.  Under  such  conditions, 
it  should  be  possible  to  determine,  for  instance,  whether  the  emo 
tional  reaction  produced  is  more  violent  with  or  without  accompani 
ment;  or  further,  to  what  precise  degree  it  is  permissible  to  compli 
cate  the  accompaniment  without  proportionately  diminishing  the 
intensity  of  the  emotional  reaction. 

All  these  major  problems,  once  resolved  by  the  methods  of  experi 
mental  science,  will  eventually  lead  to  the  establishment  of  a  scientific 
theory  of  music*  based  upon  the  observed  data  of  emotional  psycho 
logy  (European  sub-species)  and  upon  an  analysis  of  the  habitual 
reactions  of  the  aural  nerves. 

At  the  moment,  however,  the  majority  of  the  laws  (so-called) 
which  bear  down  so  tyrannically  upon  the  native  genius  of  the  com 
poser,  belong  to  the  same  category  of  groundless  fantasmagoria 
as  the  philosophies  of  Plato  and  Kant;  they  are  just  so  much 


126  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

mathematical  nonsense,  concocted  with  a  greater  or  lesser  degree 
of  inventiveness  and  imaginative  ability,  but  one  and  all  requiring 
urgently  to  be  tested  in  the  crucible  of  experiment.1  They  are  arbitrary 
decrees,  based  upon  vacuity  and  hot  air;2  they  are  consequences 
deduced  from  first  principles  which  cannot  be  ascertained;  but  un 
fortunately,  the  authority  of  these  "laws"  derives  from  the  same 
source  as  the  authority  of  the  average  King — that  is  to  say,  both  are 
hedged  about  by  a  multitude  of  powerful  officers,  who  have  the 
strongest  personal  motives  in  the  world  for  insisting  upon  the 
infallibility  of  the  government!  If  ever  this  "respect  for  the  laws" 
should  chance  to  be  disturbed;  if  ever  anyone  were  to  assume  the 
scandalous  temerity  to  enquire  scientifically  into  their  fundamental 
right  to  be  laws,  then  good-bye  to  the  pompous  vanity  and  the 
inflated  self-satisfaction  of  all  our  Professors  at  the  Conservatofrel 

Some  of  these  gentlemen,  however,  are  reasonably  intelligent.  How 
do  they  fare  under  the  present  regime? 

At  a  certain  stage  of  their  career,  those  exceptional  specimens  who 
manage  to  retain  some  semblance  of  reasonableness — I  might  in 
stance  M.  Cherubini — realizing  suddenly  that  the  whole  logical 
structure  which  they  are  in  process  of  erecting  with  such  sweat  and 
effort  has  no  foundations  whatsoever,  are  seized  with  panic;  hurri 
edly,  therefore,  they  abandon  all  attempt  to  study  emotional  re 
actions,  and  bury  themselves  instead  in  philosophical  analysis. 
Instead  of  building  fine  columns  and  elegant  porticos,  they  wear 
out  the  best  years  of  their  lives  digging  deep  down  in  the  cellars  and 
excavating  the  foundations.  And  when  at  length  they  emerge,  all 
smeared  with  grime,  from  their  subterranean  passages,  they  have  at 
least  the  satisfaction  of  having  acquired  a  head  stuffed  to  bursting- 
point  with  demonstrable  mathematical  certainties  about  music;  but 
the  fine  flower  of  youth  has  withered  away  in  the  process,  and  their 
hearts  are  drained  dry  of  the  last  trace  of  emotion;  yet  emotion  alone 
was  in  the  end  all  that  mattered,  for  nothing  but  emotion  could 
inspire  music  like  the  ^uet  from  Armida: 

Amorpossente  name  ....3 

*  Bacon  would  certainly  have  included  music  under  the  authority  of  his 
dictum:  Humana  ingenio  nonplumae  addendae,  sed potius plumbum  et  pondera. 

2  Cf.  Socrates'  arguments  in  favour  of  asceticism,  in  M.  Cousin's  Platon,  vol. 
I,  p.  200. 

3  Love,  almighty  name  ... 


IDEOLOGY  OF  MUSIC  127 

Some  harmonies  possess  a  meaning  wHch  is  unmistakable;  which 
is,  so  to  speak,  as  expressive  as  the  spoken  word;  in  such  cases,  a 
single  hearing  is  enough  to  convince  the  listener  of  their  peculiar 
quality.  Any  music-lover  of  genuine  and  profound  sensibility  should 
make  the  experiment  of  analysing  his  own  reactions  to  chords  of  this 
character.  Nevertheless,  I  must  add  a  warning;  there  is  a  precipice  to 
be  avoided,  towards  which  we  are  liable  to  be  tempted  by  that  natural 
element  of  human  impatience  which  we  all  share:  one  delightful 
experiment  does  not  constitute  a  science;  and  there  is  always  the 
danger  that  we  may  be  led  to  mistake  a  charming  romance  for  a 
factual  history*. 

Nothing  is  more  heartbreaking  than  a  scientific  discipline  of  doubt 
and  analysis  applied  to  something  one  loves.  The  more  enthralling, 
the  more  voluptuous  the  pleasures  of  music  may  be,  the  more  odious 
and  painful  the  processes  of  objective  criticism  are  likely  to  prove. 
And  when  the  critic  has  been  reduced  to  this  state  of  enervated 
exasperation,  the  least  flicker  of  a  theory  seems  irresistibly  seductive.1 
Just  as,  in  the  sciences  of  rational  speculation,  it  is  essential  to  retain 
sufficient  control  of  one's  mental  faculties  to  be  perpetually  on  the 
alert  for  the  first  symptom  of  that  besetting  sin  of  the  intellect,  which 
is  the  urge  to  leap  blindly  to  conclusions;  likewise,  in  the  theory  of 
aesthetics,  the  soul,  which  is  always  apt  to  sacrifice  objective  analysis 
to  personal  pleasure,  must  be  continually  disciplined.2 

But  there  is  a  further  danger  to  be  avoided,  this  time  of  a  very 
different  order,  and  promising  certain  shipwreck  for  the  unwary 
vessels  of  the  blunt-minded*  Such  rash  mariners,  setting  out  into  these 
uncharted  waters  in  quest  of  eternal  truths,  are  liable  to  go  blind  half 
way  towards  their  goal,  and  in  the  majority  of  instances,  end  up  by 
mistaking  the  difficult  for  the  beautiful.4' 

The  reader  will  appreciate  that  I  cannot  do  more  than  brush  the 
fringes  of  these  vast  problems.  At  best,  I  may  be  able  to  touch  lightly 

1  This  is  the  whole  story  of  the  young  German  Romantics;  their  soul  caught 
fire  with  the  love  of  virtue;  but  other,  less  scrupulous,  persons  took  advantage  of 
this  instant  of  spell-bound  enthusiasm  to  pump  their  heads  full  of  undemon- 
strated — and  therefore  absurd — logic. 

*  Well  and  good!  Tread  the  primrose  path  of  dalliance,  if  you  simply  want  to 
enjoy  yourself;  but  in  that  case,  stop  laying  down  the  law! 

8  In  English  in  the  original.  (Trans.) 

*  This  lamentable  fate,  I  suspect,  was  that  which  overtook  one  of  the  most 
learned  musical  geniuses  of  our  time. 


128  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

upon  the  moral  aspect  of  the  question;  that  is  to  say,  upon  the  aspect 
which  deals  with  the  relationship  between  certain  specific  musical 
phenomena  and  the  emotive  psychology  of  the  human  race,  or  the 
tendencies  of  our  particular  European  imagination. 

As  somebody  must  make  a  beginning  some  day,  I  suppose  that  in 
the  end  I  may  pluck  up  the  courage  to  give  the  public  a  scientific 
treatise  upon  these  vital  questions.  But,  over  and  above  the  fact  that 
any  such  treatise  would  necessarily  be  exceedingly  abstruse,  I  am 
afraid  that  it  might  also  prove  to  be  exceedingly  ridiculous.  I  could 
heartily  wish  that  the  only  persons  permitted  to  read  it  should  be 
those  who  can  prove  that  they  have  wept  at  a  performance  of  Otello. 

Meanwhile,  I  shall  have  pleasure  in  offering  the  patient  reader  a 
specimen  or  two  of  the  more  intelligible  conclusions  of  that  "science" 
as  it  is  now  practised,  in  whose  argument  the  most  clearly-demon 
strated  truths  are  still  inextricably  bound  up  with  the  wildest  and 
most  baseless  assertions.  The  logical  deductions  which  follow  from 
such  a  science  lead  one  incessantly  to  the  most  preposterous  con 
clusions,  which  can  be  disproved  with  five  fingers  on  the  tiniest 
spinet. 

But  if  you  had  spent  four  whole  years  digging  for  diamonds  in  the 
darkness  of  a  mine,  and  if  you  then  discovered,  in  the  depths  of  the 
blackest  shaft,  some  little  nest  of  bits  of  coloured  glass  with  which  an 
ingenious  confidence-trickster  had  salted  the  holding,  would  not 
you  be  tempted  to  take  them  for  diamonds  of  the  finest  water,  as  fine 
as  the  Koh-i-Noor?  Under  such  circumstances,  visual  evidence  goes 
by  the  board,  corrupted  and  destroyed  by  the  natural  vanity  of  man. 
For  it  would  require  a  rare  greatness  of  soul  to  admit  that  four  whole 
years  had  been  thrown  fruitlessly  away,  and  that,  in  all  this  time,  you 
had  never  once  had  a  clear  sight  of  those  fantastical  treasures  which 
the  confidence-tricksters  (i.e.  the  Professors  of  the  Conservatoire)  had 
been  dangling  before  your  expectations,  day  in  and  day  out,  with  a 
Can't  you  see  perfectly  plainly  that  such  a  chord  will  not  harmonize 
with  such  anotherl — and  you  committing  yourself  ever  deeper  and 
deeper,  every  time  you  agreed! 

Proportionately  as  the  accompaniment  grows  more  complex,  the 
liberty  of  the  singer  is  restricted;  it  ceases  to  be  possible  for  him  to 
give  free  rein  to  his  personal  genius  for  musical  decoration,  as  he 
could  have  done  if  the  accompaniment  had  been  simpler.  With 


IDEOLOGY  OF  MUSIC  129 

accompaniments  in  the  German  style,  any  singer  who  risks  a  scrap  of 
embellishment  runs  instantly  into  the  grave  danger  of  producing  a 
discord. 

Ever  since  Tancredi,  Rossini  has  been  moving  steadily  in  the 
direction  of  complexity. 

In  this,  he  imitated  Haydn  and  Mozart,  just  as  Raphael,  a  few 
years  after  leaving  the  school  of  Perugino,  sought  to  strengthen  his 
painting  by  imitating  the  work  of  Michelangelo.  Instead  of  delighting 
mankind  with  the  charm  of  his  natural  gracefulness,  he  preferred  to 
threaten  it  with  terror  and  apprehension. 

Rossini's  orchestration  has  grown  steadily  more  obtrusive,  spoiling 
the  melodic  line  of  his  voices.  However,  the  real  defect  in  his  later 
accompaniments  lies  rather  in  their  quantity ',  and  not,  like  those  of 
the  German  school,  in  their  quality.  Let  me  make  my  meaning 
clearer:  an  accompaniment  in  the  German  style  imposes  a  total 
restriction  upon  the  liberty  of  the  singer,  making  it  impossible  for 
him  to  decorate  the  melodic  line  in  the  natural  way  which  his  genius 
might  have  dictated.  A  singer  of  the  character  of  Davide,  for  instance, 
is  inconceivable  in  the  context  of  German-style  istrumentazione, 
which,  as  Gretry  put  it,  is  perpetually  prodding  at  the  melody, 
imperiously  forbidding  the  singer  to  exploit  the  fullest  powers  of 
expression  which  his  medium  can  afford.  Davide's  colourful  palette 
owes  its  peculiar  richness  to  the  infinite  variety  of  embellishments  and 
fioriture  which  he  normally  employs. 

This  fundamental  difference  between  accompaniments  which, 
superficially,  sound  equally  noisy,  indicates  yet  another  distinction 
between  the  German  and  the  Italian  musical  traditions.1 

Almost  any  composer  to-day  could  demolish  Rossini's  reputation, 
and  thrust  that  genius  back  into  the  obscurity  whence  he  emerged, 
simply  by  composing  an  opera  in  the  style  ofTancredi — a  style  which 
is  a  thousand  leagues  removed  from  that  of  Mose  in  Egitto,  Elisabetta, 
Maometto  or  la  Gazza  ladra. 

I  shall  have  occasion  in  a  subsequent  chapter  to  relate  a  few  of  the 

1  Twenty  years  hence,  when  Parisian  audiences  will  unquestionably  have  made 
enormous  strides  forward  in  the  science  of  musical  appreciation,  and  in  the 
destruction  of  fashionable  prejudices,  everything  that  I  have  just  written  will  neces 
sarily  appear  antiquated,  and  men  will  have  acquired  the  courage  to  delve  deeper 
in  search  of  truth.  Undoubtedly,  Signor  Massimino  will  ultimately  rank  as  one  of 
the  principle  authors  of  this  happy  revolution.  His  method  of  teaching  deserves 
the  highest  commendation.  See  the  brochure  by  Signor  Imbimbo. 


130  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

innumerable  anecdotes  which,  were  abroad  concerning  the  Court  of 
Naples,  and  which,  directly  or  indirectly,  induced  Rossini  to  alter  his 
style.  Even  if,  by  some  unheard-of  chance,  Rossini  could  for  once 
be  persuaded  to  talk  seriously  about  music,  I  doubt  if  he  would  offer 
any  other  explanation  of  this  stylistic  revolution.  Nevertheless,  there 
is  one  explanation  which  might  be  suggested,  and  that  is,  that  several 
of  his  later  operas  were  composed  for  vast  and  extremely  noisy 
theatres.  At  the  San-Carlo  and  at  la  Scala,  there  is  ample  room  for 
three  and  a  half  thousand  spectators.  Even  the  pit  is  comfortably 
provided  with  broad,  fully-backed  benches,  which  are  replaced  every 
other  year.  Another  point  is,  that  Rossini  was  often  obliged  to  write 
for  singers  whose  voices  were  tired  or  strained.  If  he  had  allowed 
them  to  sing  solo  or  thinly  accompanied  (scoperte),1  or  if  he  had 
provided  them  with  broad,  sustained  melodies  (spianati  e  sostenuti) 
to  execute,  he  would  have  had  to  fear  lest  their  technical  weaknesses, 
falling  too  much  in  evidence,  or  being  too  distinctly  audible,  should 
prove  fatal  to  singer  and  composer  alike.  On  one  occasion  in  Venice, 
when  someone  commented  reproachfully  on  the  lack  of  fine,  well- 
developed  melodies  in  slow  tempo,  Rossini  retorted:  Dunque  non 
sapete  per  che  cani  io  scrivo?2  Give  me  a  Crivelli,  and  then  see!  It  is  a 
fairly  generally  accepted  principle  that,  for  large  theatres,  it  is 
essential  to  increase  the  proportion  of  ensemble  numbers.  La  Gazza 
ladra,  which  was  composed  for  the  enormous  auditorium  of  la  Scala, 
seems  much  heavier  than  it  really  is,  when  it  is  performed  in  a  tiny 
theatre  like  the  Louvois,  and,  incidentally,  by  an  orchestra  which 
seems  to  specialize  in  a  mood  of  superb  disdain  towards  all  subtlety 
of  shading,  and  which  treats  any  passage  marked  piano  with  a  sneer 
of  inexpressible  disgust!3 

1  Lit.:  revealed. 

2  Then  you  don't  realize  the  sort  of  dogs  I  write  for? 

8  I  am  well  aware,  of  course,  that  any  generalizations  as  sweeping  as  those 
which  I  have  propounded  in  this  chapter  must  necessarily  leave  me  completely 
naked  and  defenceless  against  the  artillery  of  dishonest  criticism.  To  have  spiked 
the  guns  of  sarcasm,  I  should  have  had  to  increase  the  length  of  this  chapter, 
which  is  in  all  probability  quite  dull  enough  already,  by  fifty  pages  of  paren 
thetical  and  explanatory  clauses ;  which  I  refuse  to  do.  And  so,  with  truly  Roman 
stoicism,  I  sacrifice  myself  for  the  eventual  salvation  of  my  reader! 


i 


CHAPTER  IX 
Aureliano  in  Palmira 


SHALL  say  very  little  about  Aureliano  in  Palmira,  the  main  reason 
being,  that  1  have  never  seen  it  performed.  This  opera  was  composed 
for  Milan  in  1814,  where  it  had  the  good  fortune  to  be  sung  by 
Velutti,  the  last  of  the  great  castrati,  and  by  la  Correa,  who  could 
claim  one  of  the  finest  voices  of  any  woman  during  the  last  forty 
years. 

I  believe  that  I  am  correct  in  stating  that  Aureliano  has  never  been 
performed  outside  Milan.  I  can  certainly  vouch  that  it  was  never 
given  in  Naples  in  my  time;  moreover,  during  the  vogue  of  Rossini's 
Elisabetta,  hostile  critics  began  to  allege  that  the  music  of  this  latter 
opera  was  nothing  other  than  the  Aureliano  music  served  up  cold. 
The  only  truth  in  this  assertion  concerned  the  overture.  Rossini, 
knowing  perfectly  well  that  the  Neapolitans  had  never  heard  his 
Aureliano,  borrowed  it  without  further  ado*. 

I  know  only  one  duet  from  this  opera: 

Se  tu  m'ami,  o  mia  regina  ...,*• 

scored  for  contralto  and  soprano.  This  winter,  in  Paris,  I  had  the 
good  fortune  to  hear  it  performed  by  two  voices  which  are  assuredly 
as  fine,  if  not  finer,  than  the  most  perfect,  the  most  delicate  that  were 
ever  formed  in  Italy.  But  I  knew  already,  without  this  additional 
proof,  that  France  could  produce  voices  as  exquisite  as  any  in  the 
world;  the  trouble  is  simply  that  our  teachers  of  singing  are  no 
Crescentinis,  and  that  the  average  provincial  town  is  firmly  convinced 
(as  indeed  is  the  Conservatoire  itself)  that  there  is  no  singing  quite  as 
fine  as  really  loud  singing! 
Entranced  by  the  perfect  harmony  of  these  two  delightful  voices, 

Se  tu  m'ami,  o  mia  regina  ..., 

I  caught  myself  more  than  once  meditating,  whether  this  is  not  the 

finest  duet  that  Rossini  has  ever  written.  Of  one  thing  at  least  I  am 

1  If  you  love  me,  O  my  Queen  ... 


132  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

certain:  that,  by  plunging  the  listener  into  the  remotest,  most  mys 
terious  depths  of  reverie,  it  performs  the  miracle  which  is  the  surest 
hall-mark  of  truly  great  music. 

It  happens  sometimes  that  memories  from  the  past  come  crowding 
in  upon  us,  awakening  in  us,  in  some  secret  fashion,  the  echoes  of 
dead  and  vanished  emotions;  and  when,  at  such  a  time,  we  suddenly 
come  to  recognize,  perhaps  in  some  cantilena,  a  true  portrait  of  the 
half-forgotten  image  which  is  stirring  in  our  own  hearts,  then  we 
know  that  the  music  has  the  quality  of  true  beauty.  This  phenomenon, 
setting  the  mood  of  the  song  against  personal  experience,  seems  to 
offer  a  kind  of  verification,  which  results  in  a  more  detailed  awareness 
of  the  subtlest  shades  of  feeling  within  ourselves,  or  even  in  a  com 
pletely  new  awareness  of  shades  of  feeling  which  hitherto  we  had  not 
known  to  exist.  Such,  if  I  am  not  mistaken,  are  the  "mechanics"  of 
the  process  by  which  music  feeds  and  flatters  the  pinings  of  un 
requited  love. 

Another  opera  by  Rossini,  which  I  saw  only  once,  was  his  Demetrio 
e  Polibio*,  and  that  was  in  Brescia  in  1814.  One  day  in  June,  towards 
seven  in  the  evening,  we  were  all  sitting  in  the  garden  of  the  contes- 
sina  L***(*),  beneath  the  great  trees  which  make  it  a  haven  of  delight 
in  this  burning  climate,  eating  ices.  This  garden,  rising  slightly  above 
the  level  of  the  huge  plain  of  Lombardy,  is  so  situated  that  it  takes 
shade  from  the  woods  on  the  green  hill-side  which  juts  out  over  the 
town.  One  of  the  ladies  of  the  company  started  singing  to  herself,  and 
the  tune  must  have  struck  the  assembled  guests,  for  everyone  sud 
denly  stopped  talking.  "What  were  you  singing?"  somebody  en 
quired,  as  soon  as  she  had  finished.  "One  of  the  songs  from  Demetrio 
e  Polibio"  she  replied;  "To  be  precise,  the  famous  duet: 

Questo  cor  ti giura  affetto  ...."1 

"Is  that  the  same  Polibio  as  the  one  which  is  being  given  in  Como 
to-morrow,  with  the  Mombelli  daughters  in  the  cast?" 

"The  very  same;  Rossini  composed  the  opera  especially  for  them, 
in  1812*,  while  old  Mombelli,  their  father,  used  to  sit  by  and  point 
out  the  passages  which  were  particularly  well  suited  to  his  daughters' 
voices." 

1  This  heart  vows  you  its  affection  ... 


DEMETRIO   E  POLIBIO  133 

"But,"  put  in  one  of  the  ladies  present,  "is  it  certain  that  Rossini 
did  in  fact  write  the  opera?  There  are  rumours  that  all  the  music  was 
arranged  by  old  Mombelli." 

"He  may  perhaps  have  furnished  Rossini  with  a  tune  or  two — old- 
fashioned  things,  which  were  popular  when,  he,  Mombelli,  was  at  the 
height  of  his  fame,  round  about  1780  or  1790.  There  is  a  rumour,  too, 
that  the  Mombelli  daughters  are  related  to  Rossini." 

"Why  shouldn't  we  all  go  over  to  Como  for  the  opening  of  the  new 
theatre?"  suggested  the  mistress  of  the  house. 

"Let's  go  to  Como!  Let's  go  to  Corno!"  came  voices  from  all 
sides;  and  so,  within  half  an  hour,  four  carriages  harnessed  with 
galloping  post-horses  were  away  on  the  road  to  Como,  by  way  of 
Bergamo.  The  highway  runs  through  some  of  the  finest  upland 
scenery  which  you  could  hope  to  see  anywhere  in  Europe.  Haste  was 
essential,  if  we  were  to  reach  Como  before  the  heat  of  the  sun  grew 
intolerable  on  the  morrow;  and  that  was  how  it  came  about  that  we 
drove  recklessly  onwards,  despite  our  misgivings  on  account  of  the 
highwaymen  who  always  infest  the  neighbourhood  of  Brescia  and 
Bergamo — they  having,  so  the  rumour  goes,  even  established  a  per 
manent  network  of  intelligence  agents  in  the  former  of  these  two 
towns.  The  terror  and  apprehension  which  possessed  the  ladies  of 
the  party  seemed  only  to  add  to  the  thrill  of  the  journey;  and,  upon 
the  pretext  of  "distracting  their  attention",  we  abandoned  ourselves 
to  the  unbridled  pleasures  of  extravagant  and  imaginative  fantasy,  to 
metaphysical  arabesques  and  baroque  speculations  inconceivable 
beneath  other  skies,  and  tinged  not  a  little  with  the  madness  which 
flies  abroad  through  the  darkness  of  a  fine,  starry  night.  In  this  won 
drous  climate,  even  the  blue  of  the  heavens  is  different  from  the  blue 
that  we  know.  The  chains  of  lakes,  the  mountains  mantled  with  great 
chestnut-woods,  with  orange-orchards  and  groves  of  olives,  which 
stretch  from  Bergamo  to  Domodossola,  form  what  is  probably  one 
of  the  finest  landscapes  in  all  the  world.  But  since  no  traveller  has  yet 
sung  its  praises,  it  remains  almost  unexplored;  nor  will  /  describe  it, 
lest  I  be  accused  of  exaggeration.  I  am  already  more  than  a  little 
apprehensive,  lest  I  be  accused  of  this  weakness  respecting  the 
miracles  which  I  tend  to  attribute  to  music. 

We  reached  Como  at  nine  in  the  morning.  The  sun  was  already 
scorching;  but  I  happened  to  be  a  personal  friend  of  the  landlord  of 


134  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

the  Angela,  an  inn  overlooking  the  lake  (in  Italy,  mark  you,  no  friend 
ship  is  too  humble  to  neglect!);  he  gave  us  rooms  which  were  plea 
santly  cool,  and  the  waves  of  the  lake  came  lapping  at  the  walls 
beneath  our  windows,  a  few  feet  below  the  level  of  the  balconies. 
Rowing-boats  shaded  with  awnings  appeared  in  an  instant,  for  those 
of  our  company  who  wanted  to  bathe;  and  so,  at  length,  towards 
eight  in  the  evening,  we  found  ourselves,  refreshed  and  in  the  highest 
of  spirits,  seated  in  the  new  theatre  of  the  town  of  Como,  which  that 
very  night  was  opening  its  doors  to  the  public  for  the  first  time.  The 
crowd  was  indescribable!  People  had  come  flooding  in  from  the 
monti  di  Brianza,  from  Varese,  from  Bellaggio,  from  Lecco,  from 
Chiavenna,  from  la  Tramezina,  from  every  nook  and  corner  perched 
on  or  about  the  shores  of  the  lake,  which  is  a  good  thirty  miles  long. 
Our  three  boxes  cost  us  forty  sequins  (450  francs),  and  even  then  we 
only  managed  to  secure  them  as  a  special  favour,  thanks  to  my 
invaluable  friend  the  landlord  of  the  Angela. 

Every  person  of  reasonable  means,  both  in  Como  itself  and  in  all 
the  surrounding  country,  had  contributed  to  the  fund  which  had  been 
set  up  to  build  this  new  theatre,  which,  architecturally,  has  inherited 
the  noblest  and  simplest  traditions  of  Italy,  and  which  to-night  was 
holding  its  very  first  performance.  A  huge  portico,  supported  by  six 
great  Corinthian  columns  surmounted  by  bronze  capitals,  forms  a 
convenient  shelter  where  the  patrons  of  the  theatre  may  dismount 
from  their  carriages,  thus  fulfilling  the  condition  which  decrees  that, 
in  architecture,  utility  is  a  necessary  complement  to  beauty.  This 
portico  fronts  on  a  charming  little  piazza,  just  behind  the  magnificent 
cathedral,  which  can  best  be  described  as  "modified  gothic".  On  the 
left  of  this  piazza  rises  a  tree-clad  hill  which  bars  the  southern  extrem 
ity  of  Lake  Como.  We  discovered  that  the  interior  of  the  theatre,  with 
its  bold  and  simple  lines,  fully  justified  the  forceful,  male  beauty  of 
the  facade.  The  whole  edifice  had  been  built  in  three  years  by  indi 
vidual  initiative — and  that  in  a  town  of  some  ten  thousand  inhabi 
tants,  where  there  is  grass  growing  in  most  of  the  main  streets! 
Involuntarily  there  sprang  to  my  mind  a  picture  of  Dijon  and  its  new 
theatre,  which  I  observe  every  time  I  pass  through  the  city,  and  have 
been  observing  for  the  past  twenty  years;  its  walls  have  risen  to  a 
height  of  exactly  ten  feet  from  the  ground!  Admittedly,  the  city  of 
Dijon  has  given  us  a  score  of  first-rate  intellects  and  fine  writers: 


DEMETRIO   E  POLIBIO  135 

Buffon,  de  Brosses,  Piron,  Crebillon,  etc.,  etc. ;  but,  since  intellectual 
superiority  is  our  national  for te,  let  us  be  satisfied  with  our  triumphs 
in  literature,  and  allow  the  beautiful  land  of  Italy  to  rule  like  a  queen 
in  her  own  kingdom  of  art. 

A  pleasant-mannered  and  extremely  handsome  young  officer, 
Signor  M***  (aide-de-camp  to  General  L***),  whom,  by  a  most 
fortunate,  chance  we  came  across  in  the  atrio  of  the  theatre,  and  who 
turned  out  to  be  an  acquaintance  of  the  ladies  in  our  company, 
readily  volonteered  us  information  about  all  the  innumerable  little 
details  which  invariably  excite  curiosity  upon  one's  first  visit  to  an 
unfamiliar  theatre. 

"The  company  which  you  will  be  watching  to-night,"  he  informed 
us,  "are  all  members  of  one  single  family.  There  are  two  Mombelli 
sisters;  the  one,  Marianna,  always  takes  male  roles  and  sings  the 
musico  parts;  the  other,  Ester,  whose  voice  boasts  a  greater  range, 
although  perhaps  it  is  less  perfect  in  tone  than  that  of  her  sister,  is  the 
prima  donna  of  the  troupe.  In  the  opera  Demetrio  e  Polibio*  which 
the  Committee  of  the  local  Musical  Society  has  chosen  to  mark  the 
opening  of  its  new  theatre,  old  Mombelli,  who  was  in  Ms  day  a  noted 
tenor,  plays  the  King.  The  part  of  the  Leader  of  the  Conspirators  will 
be  played  by  an  old  fellow  called  Olivieri,  who  has  for  years  been 
attached  to  Signora  Mombelli,  the  mother  of  the  two  girls,  and  who, 
to  make  himself  useful  to  the  family,  is  a  kind  of  general  utility-man 
on  the  stage,  as  well  as  cook  and  maestro  di  casa  off  it.  Without  being 
exactly  pretty,  the  two  Mombelli  daughters  are  quite  pleasant  to  look 
at;  they  are,  however,  virtuous  to  the  point  of  ferocity.  It  may  be 
presumed  that  their  father,  who  has  ambitions  (e  un  dirittone\  has 
plans  for  marrying  them  off." 

Thus  acquainted  with  the  petty  gossip  of  the  theatre,  we  at  length 
watched  the  curtain  rise  upon  Demetrio  e  Polibio.  I  have,  I  believe, 
never  before  experienced  so  vividly  the  quality  of  Rossini  as  a  great 
artist.  We  were  transported — there  is  no  other  word  for  it.  Each 
successive  item  was  a  positive  banquet,  a  miracle  of  singing  at  its 
purest,  of  melody  at  its  most  enchanting.  In  a  moment  we  seemed  to 
be  spirited  away  among  the  shady  walks  of  some  enchanted  park — it 
might  have  been  Windsor — where  each  new  vista  seemed  fairer  than 
all  that  had  gone  before,  until  at  last,  reflecting  upon  one's  own 
wondering  astonishment,  one  realized  with  something  of  a  shock  that 


136  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

one  had  bestowed  the  supreme  award  for  beauty  upon  twenty  differ 
ent  objects. 

Is  there  anything  in  all  music  more  languorous  and  more  touching 
— yet  touching  with  that  peculiar  tenderness,  innocent  alike  of 
melancholy  and  of  premonition,1  which  is  born  only  beneath  the  blue 
heaven  of  Italy,  and  which  is  nothing  but  the  softer  aspect  of  a  noble 
and  virile  nature — is  there  anything  more  affecting  than  this  cavatina 
sung  by  the  musico : 

Pien  di  contento  in  seno  ...?2 

Moreover,  the  style  in  which  it  was  sung  by  Marianna  Mombelli 
(now  Signora  Lambertini),  was  a  revelation  to  us;  we  had  never 
before  appreciated  the  full  potentialities  of  the  canto  liscio  e  spianato* 
At  this  distance  in  time,  I  cannot  recall  the  plot  of  the  libretto ;  but  I 
remember  as  clearly  as  though  it  were  yesterday,  that  when  we 
reached  the  duet  between  the  soprano  and  the  basso : 

Mio  figlio  non  sei, 
Purfiglio  ti  chiamo  ...,4 

we  were  so  deeply  plunged  into  reverie,  reflecting  that  nothing  on 
earth  could  better  depict  the  deep-felt  and  moving  love  of  a  father 
for  his  son,  that  we  completely  forgot  to  applaud  the  music.  In  style, 
Demetrio  e  Polibio  ranks  with  Tancredi;  but  in  content,  it  is  some 
thing  far  finer.  Such,  at  least,  was  our  verdict. 
When  we  reached  the  quartet 

Donami  omai,  Siveno  ...,5 

our  admiration,  like  that  of  the  remainder  of  the  audience,  knew 
neither  bounds  nor  language  in  which  to  find  expression.  To-day, 
nine  years  after  this  memorable  evening,  during  which  time  I  have 
listened  to  a  great  deal  of  music  (usually  for  want  of  anything  better 

1  Compare  the  landscapes  of  Switzerland  with  those  of  the  fair  land  of  Italy. 
Vide:  le  Journal  des  Ddbats*  (29  My  1823),  which  contains  a  charming  description 
of  the  town  of  Varese. 

2  Filled  with  happiness  in  my  breast ... 

3  Simple  and  pure,  stripped  of  pretentious  ornamentation;  the  style  of  Virgil, 
for  instance,  as  compared  with  that  of  Madame  de  Stael,  in  whose  art  each 
sentence  is  loaded  to  the  hilt  with  every  arabesque  and  flourish  known  to  philo 
sophy  or  sensibility!* 

4  You  are  not  my  son,  yet  I  call  you  my  son  ... 

5  Give  me  now,  Siveno  ... 


DEMETRIO   E   POLIBIO  137 

to  listen  to !),  I  do  not  hesitate  to  assert  that  this  quartet  must  number 
among  Rossini's  most  masterly  inventions.  I  know  nothing  anywhere 
which  can  surpass  it.  If  Rossini  had  composed  nothing,  save  this  one 
quartet,  Mozart  and  Cimarosa  would  still  have  recognized  in  him  a 
man  who  was  their  equal  as  an  artist.  Incidentally,  one  of  its  most 
fascinating  qualities  is  a  curious  lightness  of  touch  (the  sort  of  thing 
a  painter  would  describe  as  "created  out  of  nothing")  which  I  have 
never  encountered  in  Mozart. 

I  remember  that  the  effect  upon  the  audience  was  so  instantaneous, 
that,  not  content  with  calling  for  one  encore,  they  were  on  the  point 
of  reviving  an  ancient  practice,  and  calling  for  a  second,  when  a 
personal  friend  of  the  Mombelli  family  stepped  down  into  the  audi 
torium,  and  appealed  to  the  enraptured  dilettanti,  explaining  that 
neither  of  the  Mombelli  girls  was  particularly  strong  in  health,  and 
that  if  they  insisted  upon  a  second  encore  for  the  quartet,  there  was  a 
very  real  danger  that  the  singers  might  not  be  able  to  get  through  the 
remainder  of  the  opera.  "But,"  protested  the  dilettanti,  "is  there  any 
thing  still  to  come  which  is  worth  hearing,  compared  with  thisT' 
"Most  assuredly  there  is!"  answered  the  family  friend.  "There  is  the 
duet*  between  the  lover  and  his  mistress, 

Quest  o  cor  ti  giura  amore  ...* 

and  at  least  two  or  three  others  besides."  This  argument  at  last  took 
effect  upon  the  pit,  and  sheer  curiosity  conquered  the  wilder  mani 
festations  of  enthusiasm.  Moreover,  the  family  friend  was  fully 
redeemed  in  the  promises  he  had  made  on  behalf  of  the  duet 

Questo  cor  ti  giura  amore  ..., 

for  it  is  impossible  to  portray  the  mystic  sweetness  of  love  with 
greater  delicacy,  or  with  less  poignant  sadness. 

A  factor  which  strongly  contributed  to  the  charm  of  these  perfect 
cantilenas  was  the  unobtrusiveness  and,  if  I  may  use  the  term,  the 
modesty  of  the  accompaniments.  These  songs  were  the  first  fragile 
blossoms  of  Rossini's  genius;  the  dawn  of  his  life  had  left  the  dew 
still  fresh  upon  them. 

Later  in  his  career,  Rossini  was  to  journey  towards  the  cold  and 
dismal  lands  of  the  North,  where  gaping  chasms  yawn  blackly  on  the 
1  This  heart  vows  love  to  you  ... 


138  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

edge  of  every  summer  landscape,  inspiring  melancholy  and  horror  in 
the  beholder;  and  this  horror  was  to  become  an  integral  part  of  his 
later  conception  of  beauty.1 

By  resorting  to  crude  contrasts  for  his  effects,  Rossini  succeeded  in 
winning  the  applause  of  the  blunt-minded,  and  of  all  musicians  who 
think  of  music  as  the  Germans  do,  in  terms  of  dust  and  learning.  If 
all  the  composers  (Mozart  excepted)  born  outside  Italy  were  brought 
together  in  one  vast  congress,  and  kept  there  until  the  end  of  time, 
their  whole  united  effort  could  never  produce  one  single  quartet  half 
as  fine  as 

Donami  omai,  Siveno  .../ 

1  Cf-  the  accompaniment  to  the  scene  of  the  arrival  of  Moses,  in  the  opera 
Mos&  in  Egitto. 


i 


CHAPTER  X 
//  Turco  in  Italia 


N  THE  AUTUMN  of  this  same  year,  1814,  Rossini  composed 
il  Turco  in  Italia  for  la  Scala  in  Milan,  in  response  to  a  demand  for  a 
sequel  to  ritaliana  in  Algeri.  Galli,  who  for  some  years*  had  been 
giving  admirable  performances  as  the  Bey  in  ritaliana,  was  entrusted 
with  the  part  of  the  young  Turk,  who,  driven  out  of  his  course  at  sea 
by  a  great  storm,  struggles  ashore  in  Italy,  and  falls  in  love  with  the 
first  pretty  girl  whom  chance  sets  in  his  path.  Unfortunately,  this 
particular  pretty  young  thing  already  possesses,  not  only  a  husband 
(don  Geronio),  but  a  lover  (don  Narciso)  into  the  bargain,  who  turns 
out  to  be  in  no  mood  to  step  down  in  favour  of  any  Turk!  However, 
the  lady,  who  is  named  donna  FioriUa,  being  gay  and  flirtatious  by 
nature,  is  delighted  by  the  impression  she  has  made  on  the  handsomte 
foreigner,  and  jumps  at  the  double  chance  of  tormenting  her  lover 
and  of  making  a  fool  of  her  husband. 

Don  Geronio's  cavatina 


Vado  in  traccia  d'una  zingara 
Che  mi  sappia  astrologar, 
Che  mi  dica,  in  confidenza, 
Se  col  tempo  e  lapazienza, 
II  cervello  di  mia  moglie 
Potro  giungere  a  sanar* 


is  in  the  purest  comic  vein.  This  delightful  song  is  a  perfect  example 
of  music  in  the  tradition  of  Cimarosa,  notably  in  the  reply  which  poor 
old  don  Geronio  returns  to  his  own  question: 

Ma  la  zingara  cK  io  bramo 
£  impossibile  trovarl* 

1  I  am  going  in  search  of  a  gypsy-woman  who  will  be  able  to  tell  my  fortune, 
and  who  will  tell  me  in  confidence  whether,  given  time  and  patience,  I  may 
eventually  succeed  in  curing  my  wife's  deranged  brain  ... 

2  But  the  gypsy-woman  whom  I  am  looking  for  so  intently  appears  to  be 
impossible  to  find! 


140  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

Nevertheless,  if  the  thematic  structure  of  this  cavatina  reveals  a 
direct  ancestry  in  the  songs  of  Cimarosa,  the  stylistic  treatment  is 
entirely  original.  The  part  of  don  Geronio  is  one  of  those  in  which 
the  famous  buffo  Paccini  acquired  his  great  reputation.  Every  even 
ing,  I  remember,  he  used  to  think  up  some  new  and  original  interpre 
tation  for  this  passage;  one  night,  he  would  give  us  a  husband 
genuinely  in  love  with  his  wife,  and  driven  to  distraction  by  her 
irresponsibility;  the  next,  a  cynical  philosopher  who  would  be  the 
first  to  shrug  his  shoulders  at  the  singular  whims  of  the  helpmeet 
which  fate  has  foisted  upon  him.  At  one  performance  (I  forget 
whether  it  was  the  fourth  or  the  fifth),  Paccini  risked  a  piece  of 
absurdity  so  foreign  to  our  present  code  of  manners  that  I  hesitate 
even  to  describe  it,  for  fear  of  shocking  my  readers'  susceptibilities. 
You  must  know,  then,  that  on  that  particular  evening,  society  gossip 
was  exclusively  preoccupied  with  the  fate  of  one  particular  husband, 
who  was  very  far  from  accepting  with  philosophic  fortitude  the 
distressful  accidents  peculiar  to  his  state.  The  boxes  of  la  Scala, 
almost  without  exception,  were  buzzing  with  chatter  over  the  circum 
stances  of  his  misfortune,  of  which,  indeed,  he  had  become  aware  for 
the  first  time  that  very  day.  Paccini,  irritated  by  the  fact  that  no  one 
seemed  to  be  paying  the  slightest  attention  to  the  opera,  suddenly 
began,  right  in  the  middle  of  his  cavatina,  to  mimic  the  unmistakably 
individual  gestures  and  the  wild  despair  of  the  unlucky  husband.  This 
highly  reprehensible  piece  of  impertinence  succeeded  beyond  all 
belief;  the  audience  was  seized  by  a  spasm  of  merriment,  which, 
starting  pianissimo,  grew  rapidly  into  a  reverberating  crescendo.  To 
begin  with,  only  one  or  two  persons  seemed  to  realize  that  there  was 
a  remarkable  similarity  between  Paccini's  histrionic  despair  on  the 
stage,  and  that  of  the  Duke  of  ***  in  real  life;  but  one  by  one,  the 
entire  audience  came  to  identify  the  gestures  of  that  poor  cuckolded 
aristocrat,  and  in  particular,  his  handkerchief,  which  he  never  failed 
to  hold  in  his  hand  whenever  he  mentioned  his  wife,  to  wipe  away  the 
tears  of  distress  which  poured  from  his  eyes.  But  how  can  I  describe 
the  outburst  of  universal  hilarity  which  echoed  through  the  huge 
building,  when  the  luckless  Duke  himself  entered  the  theatre,  and, 
in  full  view  of  the  entire  audience,  found  a  seat  in  a  friend's  box 
scarcely  above  the  level  of  the  pit  itself?  The  audience  to  a  man 
screwed  its  neck  round  to  the  point  of  positive  discomfort,  in  order  to 


IL  TURCO  IN  ITALIA  141 

extract  the  last  ounce  of  delight  from  his  presence.  However,  the 
unhappy  husband  not  only  remained  entirely  oblivious  to  the  sensa 
tion  he  was  creating;  but  to  crown  it  all,  the  audience  was  soon  per 
mitted  to  deduce  from  his  gestures,  and  in  particular  from  the  pitiful 
fluttering  of  that  abominable  handkerchief,  that  he  was  indeed  "tell 
ing  the  tale  anew"  to  the  occupants  of  the  box  which  he  was  visiting, 
and  that  he  was  being  careful  to  omit  not  one  of  the  degrading 
circumstances  of  his  previous  night's  discovery! 

One  needs  to  realize  just  how  small,  from  the  point  of  view  of 
gossip,  scandal  and  amorous  intrigue,  are  Italy's  greatest  cities,  in 
order  to  appreciate  the  hysterical  convulsions  of  laughter  which 
overwhelmed  the  audience,  sharp-tongued  and  cynical  as  it  was,  at 
the  spectacle  of  the  ill-fated  husband  in  his  box,  and  of  Paccini  on  the 
stage,  gazing  at  him  steadily  while  he  sang  his  cavatina,  and  instantly 
mimicking  his  slightest  gesture  with  a  flourish  of  grotesque  exaggera 
tion.  The  orchestra  forgot  to  accompany,  even  the  police  grew 
mindless  of  their  "duty  to  quell  a  riot".  Fortunately  in  the  end,  some 
spectator  less  giddy  than  the  rest  made  his  way  to  the  box,  and 
succeeded— though  not  without  some  pains — in  extricating  the  still- 
tearful  Duke. 

Galli's  magnificent  voice  found  full  scope  for  its  powers  in  the 
paean  of  greeting  which  the  Turk,  scarcely  come  to  land,  addresses 
to  the  fair  realm  of  Italy : 

BelP  Italia,  a!  fin  ti  miro, 
Vi  saluto,  amiche  sponde!1 

The  librettist  had  built  into  his  text  a  special  virtuoso  scene  for 
Galli,  who  was  worshipped  in  Milan,  and  who  was  now  making  his 
first  reappearance  on  the  stage  of  la  Scala  since  his  return,  after  a 
year's  absence,  from  an  engagement  in  Barcelona. 

The  reverberations  of  Galli's  voice  echoed  like  thunder  in  the  huge 
auditorium  of  la  Scala ;  but  the  audience  felt  that  Rossini,  who  was  at 
the  piano,  had  for  once  not  lived  up  to  his  reputation  in  this  par 
ticular  duet.  This  unfavourable  verdict  was  made  clear  in  the  dis 
tribution  of  the  applause,  for,  while  the  house  shouted  itself  hoarse 
with  Bravo  Galli! >  there  was  scarcely  a  single  voice  to  ring  the  changes 
with  a  Bravo  maestro!— ii  is  worth  remarking  that,  at  the  premiere  of 
1  Fair  Italy,  at  last  I  gaze  upon  thee!  I  greet  you,  friendly  shores! 


142  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

any  opera,  the  applause  for  the  singers  and  the  applause  for  the 
composer  are  always  kept  perfectly  distinct.  As  you  may  well  have 
guessed,  nobody  gives  a  damn  for  the  librettist;  for  who  indeed, 
unless  it  were  a  French  critic,  would  dream  of  judging  an  opera  by 
the  wordsl 
The  enthusiasm  which  greeted  the  delightful  quartet: 

Siete  Turco,  non  vf  credo; 
Cento  donne  intorno  avete, 
Le  comprate,  le  vendete 
Quando  spento  e  in  voi  r ardor  ...,1 

was  so  boundless  that  it  wholly  transcends  my  powers  to  describe  it 
with  any  semblance  of  accuracy.  Incidentally,  I  have  been  unable  to 
resist  the  temptation  to  set  down  the  whole  of  this  quatrain,  because 
every  phrase,  every  word  even,  catches  such  unexpected  charm  from 
Rossini's  perfect  setting.  One  hearing  is  enough;  thereafter  the  tune 
sticks,  and  the  words  too,  which  sound  so  deliciously  provocative  on 
the  lips  of  that  particular  young  lady,  who  utters  them  as  a  pretext 
for  rejecting  advances,  and  who,  in  reality,  is  desperate  to  see  the 
pretext  rejected  instead. 

The  Turk's  reply  is  as  charming  as  a  madrigal  by  Voltaire. 

No  composer  on  earth  save  Rossini  could  have  written  such  music, 
which  reflects  the  last  dying  struggles  of  flirtatious  provocation  as, 
gradually,  flirtation  is  transmuted  into  love.  Fiorilla's  words  are  still 
brilliant  with  the  bantering  laughter  of  a  coquette,  but  the  first 
tremors  of  love  are  already  stirring  in  the  accompaniment  which 
chatters  along  beside  them.  Nothing  can  subdue  the  irrepressible 
lightheartedness  of  this  wonderful  cantilena,  until  we  suddenly 
become  aware  of  the  first  deep  murmurs  of  dawning  passion. 

How  can  I  describe  the  taunting  subtlety  of  the  reproach: 

le  comprate,  le  vendete  ..., 

as  it  is  repeated  again  and  again,  and  each  time  with  a  hint  of  varia 
tion  in  the  underlying  expression,  by  the  exquisite  voice  of  Luigina 
C***,  with  all  its  delicacy  of  tone  and  its  pure  precision?  O  fortunate 
land  of  Italy,  where  love  is  understood  as  in  no  other  clime! 

1  You  are  a  Turk;  I  cannot  believe  what  you  say;  you  have  a  hundred  women 
around  you;  you  buy  them,  and,  when  your  ardour  is  spent,  you  sell  them 
again... 


IL  TURCO  IN  ITALIA  143 

Don  Geronio,  who  is  only  too  well  aware  of  Fiorilla's  dawning 
passion,  brings  up  the  heavy  artillery: 

Se  tu  piu  mormon 

Solo  una  sillaba, 

Un  cimiterio 

Qui  si  far  a!1 

If  such  notions  seem  ridiculous  to  us  in  Paris,  it  must  be  remembered 
all  the  same  that  in  Italy  they  represent  a  model  example  of  the 
librettist's  art.  The  meaning  is  clear;  the  emotion  is  intense;  there  is 
comedy  in  the  style  of  the  expression;  and,  last  but  not  least,  there  is 
no  trace  of  that  super-refined,  elaborate  preciosity  which  we  associ 
ate  with  Marivaux.  Every  instant  spent  in  appreciating  such  finesse, 
in  admiring  and  applauding  it,  is  just  so  much  time  lost  for  the 
appreciation  of  the  music,  and,  worse  still,  would  continue  to  distract 
the  attention  for  a  long  time  to  come.  To  enjoy  the  finesse  of  verbal 
wit  requires  critical  penetration  at  an  intellectual  level;  but  critical 
penetration  is  the  very  faculty  which  must  be  jettisoned  for  good  and 
all  if  we  are  to  allow  music  to  weave  its  elusive  web  of  dreams  about 
our  soul;  the  two  pleasures  of  sense  and  intellect  are  distinct,  and  the 
belief  that  both  can  be  enjoyed  at  once,  a  dangerous  hallucination. 
Nobody,  save  a  French  literary  critic,2  could  stubbornly  persist  in 
this  illusion,  which  can  be  dispelled  by  one  single  comment:  In  music, 
the  same  word  or  phrase  is  subject  to  constant  repetition,  each  succes 
sive  re-statement  infusing  the  spoken  material  with  new  meaning.  Yet 
somehow  it  still  passes  the  understanding  of  our  venerable  literary 
gentlemen  that,  in  poetry  proper,  a  single  repetition  of  this  character 
can  murder  the  verse,  the  rhythm  and  the  rhyme,  and  that  the  most 
brilliant  shaft  of  wit,  repeated,  or  even  pronounced  slowly,  would 
normally  disintegrate  into  complete  inanity.3 

1  If  you  murmur  one  single  syllable  more,  this  very  spot  will  become  a  grave 
yard! 

2  Eg.  MM.  Geoffroy,  Hoffman,  the  Editors  oflaPandore,  etc.,  etc.  M.  Geoffrey, 
the  most  enlightened  of  these  miscellaneous  gentlemen,  used  to  refer  to  Mozart  as 
a  tin-pot  and  pan-handle  composer  of  more-or-less  barbaric  tunes.  His  successors, 
however,  have  been  much  more  severe  in  their  attitude  towards  Mozart:  they 
have  analysed  and  commended  him.  Cf.  VAbeille  (vol.  II,  p.  267);  la  Renommee; 
le  Miroir;  etc. 

3  An  inquisitive  and  tactless  bore  once  buttonholed  M.  de  T***  hi  the  heat  of 
a  political  crisis:  "Well  now,  Monseigneur,  what  has  fortune  brought  you  to 
day?'*  "HI  luck,  Sir  ...  you,  Sir!"  came  the  retort.  Set  this  rejoinder  to  music,  and 
it  becomes  just  about  as  witty  and  amusing  as  the  nonsense  which  is  printed  in  the 
musical  articles  oflaPandore. 


144  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

In  opera,  verse  is  confined  to  the  published  libretto,  and  exists  only 
by  the  good  graces  of  the  type-setter,  who  disposes  his  words  in  an 
artificial  order  on  the  printed  page;  in  the  theatre,  once  the  music 
escapes  from  the  narrow  bonds  of  recitative  into  the  impassioned 
flights  of  song,  the  ear  hears  nothing  but  prose;  a  man  who  was  blind 
would  never  for  one  single  instant  recognize  the  succession  of  sounds 
which  came  to  his  awareness  as  verse. 

The  quartet,  from  whose  text  I  have  just  been  quoting,  may  seem 
arid  enough  and  completely  barren  of  wit  from  a  French  point  of 
view;  but  for  all  that,  it  is  most  admirably  suited  to  music;  and  its 
concluding  section  leads  straight  into  a  cantilena: 

Nel  volto  estatico 

Di  questo  e  quello  ...,1 

sung  by  the  four  main  characters,  donna  Fiorilla,  her  lover,  her 
husband  and  the  Turk,  which  is  a  perfect  example  of  the  fusion  of 
comedy  with  dramatic  verisimilitude. 

In  the  production  at  la  Scala,  Paccini  played  the  husband  and 
Galli,  the  Turk;  the  lover  who  is  so  determined  to  "stand  upon  his 
rights"  in  the  face  of  the  newcomer  was  played  by  Davide;  while 
Signora  Festa  played  Fiorilla.  The  ensemble  was  perfect. 

In  the  second  act,  the  pointed  little  duet: 

D9un  bel  uso  di  Turchia 
Forse  avrai  novella  intesa  ...,2 

in  the  course  of  which  the  young  Turk  quite  bluntly  puts  it  to  the 
husband  that  he  should  sell  his  wife,  is  just  as  delicious  in  every 
respect  as  the  earlier  duet  from  Act  I.  The  text  provided  such  a  perfect 
foil  for  Rossini's  own  peculiar  sense  of  humour,  that  he  could  not 
help  but  give  it  a  supremely  perfect  dramatic  setting  in  music.  It  is 
impossible  to  conceive  a  more  effective  combination  of  lightness, 
merriment,  and  that  unique  and  brilliant  gracefulness,  of  which 
il  Pesarese  may  claim  to  be  the  undisputed  master.  This  duet  may 
boldly  invite  comparison  with  any  of  the  melodies  invented  by 
Cimarosa  or  Mozart;  for  these  two  great  composers  may  indeed 
have  written  music  as  fine,  but  certainly  not  finer  than  this.  And  for 

1  In  the  ecstatic  countenance  of  this  one  and  that ... 

2  There's  a  fine  old  Turkish  custom,  of  which  you  may  have  heard  ... 


IL  TURCO  IN  ITALIA  145 

sheer  lightness  of  touch,  the  cantilena  is,  and  will  always  remain, 
absolutely  without  parallel.  It  has  something  of  the  delicacy  of  the 
arabesques  which  Raphael  executed  for  the  loggias  of  the  Vatican. 
Nowhere,  perhaps,  save  in  the  scores  of  Paesiello,  might  one  hope  to 
light  upon  a  passage  which  could  rival  the  perfection  of  Rossini's 
music  in  this  number. 

I  suspect,  however,  that  any  reader  who  chanced  to  hear  this  duet 
when  it  was  performed  in  Paris  will  promptly  be  tempted  to  accuse  me 
of  the  most  unbridled  exaggeration;  but  I  would  hasten  to  point  out 
in  my  defence,  that  it  is  imperative  that  the  performance  should  be 
as  perfect  as  the  material;  a  singer  of  the  quality  of  Galli  is  absolutely 
essential.  If  the  singers  should  reveal  the  faintest  hint  of  fumbling  or 
hesitation,  the  gracefulness  is  gone  for  ever. 

The  ball-room  scene  is  another  masterpiece.  I  have  no  information 
whether  the  high-minded  directors  who  preside  over  the  destinies  of 
our  own  Opera  Buffa  dared  to  include  it  for  the  gratification  of 
Parisian  audiences,  when  they  had  the  temerity  to  offer  them  an 
"amended  version"  ofilTurco  in  Italia. 

The  quintet: 

Oh!  guardate  che  accidente; 
Non  conosco  piu  mia  moglie  ...* 

is  perhaps  the  finest  thing  I  have  ever  heard  in  any  opera  buffa  by 
Rossini;  the  secret  lies  in  the  exquisite  balance  maintained  between 
technical  simplicity  on  the  one  hand,  and  expressive  characterisation 
on  the  other.  But  if  music  of  this  quality  is  to  be  appreciated  in  all  its 
perfection,  a  certain  degree  of  spiritual  intoxication  is  essential  in  the 
listener;  and  we  all  know  that  nothing  can  appear  more  obnoxious, 
or  in  worse  taste,  than  the  hilarity  of  others  when  we  ourselves  for 
one  reason  or  another  are  in  no  mood  to  share  it.  In  such  circum 
stances,  the  obstinately  unamused  know  full  well  how  to  get  their 
revenge:  Idiotic  buffoonery!  they  grunt,  Music-hall  nonsense! 

I  have  no  need  to  explain  that,  if  the  Milanese  received  Rossini's 
latest  masterpiece  with  a  shade  of  coldness,  the  reason  was  not  that 
they  found  it  "too  flippant".  The  trouble  lay  in  what  they  felt  to  be  an 
insult  to  their  national  pride.  They  maintained  that  Rossini  had 
plagiarized  his  own  earlier  work  and  served  it  up  to  them  as  some- 

1  O  see,  alas,  what  a  disaster!  I  can  no  longer  recognize  my  own  wife  ... 


146  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

thing  original.  In  some  petty  provincial  theatre,  the  liberty  might 
have  been  connived  at;  but  at  la  Scala,  the  finest  theatre  in  the  world 
(so  thundered  the  worthy  citizens  of  Milan),  the  composer  might  at 
least  have  taken  the  trouble  to  write  something  which  was  not  stale. 
Four  years  later,  il  Turco  in  Italia  was  revived  in  Milan,  and  on  this 
occasion  was  enormously  successful 


CHAPTER  XI 

Rossini  in  Naples 

1814  or  thereabouts  Rossini's  fame  had  spread  as  far  south  as 
Naples,  which  displayed  a  great  show  of  astonishment  and  disbelief 
that  there  could  exist  in  all  the  world  a  major  composer  who  had  had 
the  temerity  not  to  be  born  a  Neapolitan.  The  impresario  in  Naples 
was  a  certain  gentleman  by  the  name  of  Barbaja,  by  birth  a  Milanese, 
a  sometime  waiter  in  a  coffee-house,  who,  by  gambling,  and-more 
especially  by  holding  the  bank  at  faro  and  by  running  a  gaming 
house,  had  amassed  a  fortune  worth  several  millions.  Signor  Bar 
baja,  who  had  received  a  thorough  early  grounding  in  business 
methods  in  Milanese  commercial  circles,  among  the  host  of  French 
army-contractors  who  were  making  and  losing  fortunes  every  six 
months  in  the  wake  of  the  battalions,  had,  and  still  has,  a  good  eye 
for  the  main  chance.  He  realized  at  once,  from  the  way  in  which 
Rossini's  musical  reputation  was  spreading  abroad  in  society,  that 
here  was  a  young  composer  who  might  be  good  or  bad,  but  who, 
rightly  or  wrongly,  was  going  to  be  the  coming  figure  in  the  world  of 
music;  so  off  he  went  post-haste  to  Bologna  to  fetch  him.  Rossini, 
who  was  used  to  dealing  with  the  seediest  of  fourth-rate  impresari  in 
a  perpetual  state  of  flagrant  bankruptcy,  was  astonished  to  find  him 
self  sought  out  by  a  millionaire  who,  in  all  probability,  would  count 
it  beneath  his  dignity  to  embezzle  the  customary  twenty  sequins  out 
of  his  salary.  The  millionaire  offered  him  an  engagement,  which  was 
accepted  on  the  spot.  Later  on,  in  Naples,  Rossini  signed  a  scrittura 
for  several  years.  He  undertook  to  compose  for  Signor  Barbaja  two 
original  operas  per  annum;  and,  in  addition,  to  arrange  the  scores  of 
all  other  operas  that  Signor  Barbaja  saw  fit  to  put  on,  whether  at  the 
main  theatre  in  Naples,  the  San-Carlo,  or  at  the  secondary  theatre, 
known  as  the  teatro  del  Fondo.  For  which  services,  Rossini  was  to 
receive  an  annual  remuneration  of  12,000  francs,  and  to  hold  shares 
in  certain  gaming-houses,  of  which  Barbaja  was  the  official  lessee — 
shares  which  were  to  bring  in  a  further  30-40  louis  a  year  to  the  young 
composer.* 


148  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

The  musical  direction  of  the  San-Carlo  and  delFondo  theatres,  for 
which  Rossini  had  so  lightly  assumed  the  responsibility,  was  an 
enormous  undertaking,  a  positive  drudgery  of  manual  labour  involv 
ing  the  transposition  and  "arrangement"  of  an  unbelievable  quantity 
of  music,  either  to  suit  the  voices  of  the  singers,  or  else  simply  to 
gratify  the  whims  of  their  "protectors".  Such  a  task,  by  itself,  would 
have  been  sufficient  to  blast  any  fragile  and  melancholy  genius,  any 
unhardened  talent  depending  upon  the  delicate  inspirations  of  a 
highly-strung  nervous  system;  a  Mozart  would  simply  have  been 
suffocated.  But  Rossini  possesses  a  tough  and  congenitally  cheerful 
temperament,  which  carries  him  as  unconcernedly  over  importunate 
obstacles  as  it  does  over  the  barrages  of  hostile  criticism.  An 
"enemy",  to  him,  promises  nothing  more  formidable  than  a  fresh 
chance  to  make  a  fool  of  someone,  or  simply  to  get  up  to  a  few  more 
monkey-tricks  and  practical  jokes,  if  I  may  be  allowed  to  lapse 
temporarily  into  a  style  of  speech  as  downright  vulgar  as  the  subject. 

Rossini  cheerfully  shouldered  the  immense  burden  with  which  he 
now  found  himself  saddled*,  in  much  the  same  spirit  as  Figaro  (in  his 
own  Barber)  undertakes  the  commissions  which  rain  upon  him  from 
all  sides  "as  thick  as  hailstones".  He  did  the  job  he  was  paid  to  do, 
and  laughed,  and  in  particular  continued  to  exhibit  the  most  pointed 
irreverence  and  disrespect  towards  everyone  with  whom  he  came  in 
contact;  an  attitude  which  was  to  earn  him  a  host  of  enemies,  among 
whom,  in  this  year  of  grace  1823,  we  may  name  Signor  Barbaja  him 
self,  who  was  to  become  the  victim  of  a  practical  joke  in  the  worst 
imaginable  taste  when  Rossini  proceeded  to  marry  his  mistress*.  In 
spite  of  this,  however,  Rossini's  contract  with  Barbaja  lasted  until 
1822,  and  exercised  an  inestimable  influence  upon  his  genius,  his 
happiness  and  his  whole  career. 

Fortunate  as  ever,  Rossini  made  his  debut  in  Naples  in  the  most 
brilliant  manner  imaginable  with  an  opera  seria  entitled  Elisabetta 
regina  d' Inghilterra  (October  1815). 

However,  to  understand  the  reasons  for  this  particular  success, 
and  more  especially,  to  grasp  the  nature  of  the  doubts  and  hesitations 
which  had  besieged  him  at  the  moment  of  his  arrival  in  the  lovely 
city  which  is  the  home  of  the  Neapolitans,  it  is  necessary  to  go  back 
a  few  years  into  the  past. 

The  Royal  Personage  who  rules  over  Naples*  is  a  great  huntsman, 


IN  NAPLES  149 

a  mighty  football-player,  a  tireless  horseman,  an  intrepid  fisherman; 
the  physical  man  is  the  whole  man;  he  knows  perhaps  one  emotion, 
and  one  only  (and  that  is  the  direct  outcome  of  his  physical  prowess) 
— a  passion  for  enterprise  and  daring.  For  the  rest,  his  total  lack  of 
positive  enthusiasm  for  crime  being  equalled  only  by  his  similar  lack 
of  positive  enthusiasm  for  virtue,  he  remains  a  being  utterly  devoid 
of  the  least  semblance  of  moral  consciousness,  as  indeed  it  becomes 
a  true  huntsman  to  be.  Rumour  asserts  that  he  is  a  miser,  but  this 
is  an  exaggeration;  he  detests  having  to  pay  out  money  in  cash,  but 
he  will  happily  sign  away  anything  one  cares  to  ask  for,  provided 
that  the  money  is  in  the  form  of  bonds  drawn  on  the  treasury. 

For  nine  long  years  this  King  Ferdinand  had  languished  in  the 
island  of  Sicily,  a  kind  of  prisoner  in  the  hands  of  a  people  who  could 
think  of  nothing  better  to  do  than  to  pester  him  with  parliamentary 
governments,  economic  principles,  balances  of  power,  and  other  such 
revolting  and  unintelligible  nonsense.  No  sooner  had  he  escaped 
from  this  chill  exile  and  arrived  in  Naples,  when  one  of  the  fairest 
jewels  in  all  his  Neapolitan  kingdom,  one  of  the  flowers  which, 
glimpsed  from  afar,  had  made  him  pine  most  desperately  in  his  alien 
surroundings — the  magnificent  San-Carlo  theatre— was  destroyed 
utterly,  and  in  a  single  night,  by  fire.  This  blow,  so  they  say,  affected 
him  more  deeply  than  defeat  in  a  dozen  pitched  battles  or  the  loss  of 
a  whole  realm. 

And  while  he  lay  thus,  and  the  sickness  was  upon  him,  there 
cometh  a  man  in  unto  him,  saying  "Lord,  behold  this  great  theatre, 
which  the  flame  at  this  very  hour  devoureth;  yet  despair  not,  for  in 
nine  months  I  will  build  it  for  thee  again,  and  it  shall  be  more  beauti 
ful  than  it  was,  even  in  all  its  glory!" 

And  Signor  Barbaja  kept  his  word.  On  the  12th  day  of  January 
1817,  when  the  King  of  Naples  at  length  set  foot  in  the  new  San- 
Carlo  theatre,  he  was  able  to  feel,  for  the  first  time  in  twelve  years, 
that  at  last  he  really  was  a  King*.  From  that  instant  onwards,  Signor 
Barbaja  was  the  greatest  man  in  the  kingdom.  Now  it  happened  that 
this  greatest-man-in-the-kingdom,  theatrical-manager  and  gaming 
house-keeper  was  also  the  "protector"  of  Signorina  Colbran,  his  own 
prima  donna,  who  amused  herself  by  making  a  fool  of  him  all  day 
long,  and  consequently  had  him  exactly  where  she  wanted  Mm. 
Signorina  Colbran,  who  is  to-day  Signora  Rossini*  was  between  1806 


150  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

and  1815  one  of  the  most  celebrated  sopranos  in  all  Europe.  In  1815, 
however,  she  began  to  "suffer  from  a  strained  voice",  an  affliction 
which,  in  singers  of  lesser  distinction,  would  have  been  vulgarly 
termed  singing  off  key*.  From  1816  to  1822,  Signorina  Colbran 
revealed  a  marked  tendency  to  sing  either  above  or  below  the 
required  pitch,  and  her  singing  became  what  (in  inferior  mortals) 
would  certainly  have  been  termed  execrable;  but  God  forbid  that  one 
should  have  suggested  anything  of  the  kind  in  Naples!  In  spite  of 
this  minor  indisposition,  however,  Signorina  Colbran  retained  her 
position  zsprima  donna  at  the  San-Carlo  theatre,  and  was  invariably 
applauded  whenever  she  appeared  on  the  stage.  This,  to  my  mind, 
represents  one  of  the  most  flattering  victories  ever  achieved  by  rank 
despotism;  for,  if  there  is  one  passion  which  outstrips  all  others  in  the 
breasts  of  the  inhabitants  of  Naples — the  most  emotional,  irrepres 
sible  people  on  earth! — it  is  incontrovertibly  their  passion  for  music. 
And  yet,  for  five  whole  years,  from  1816  to  1821,  this  unquenchable 
race  was  obliged  to  endure  the  most  excruciating  and  tyrannical 
oppression,  directed  specifically  at  those  activities  to  which  it  was 
accustomed  to  look  for  its  most  fervent  and  coveted  pleasures!  But 
Barbaja  was  under  the  thumb  of  his  mistress;  and  she  was  the  pro 
tectress  of  Rossini.  Barbaja,  sitting  at  the  King's  right  hand,  held  the 
purse-strings;  and  if  he  paid  anyone,  it  was  only  "them  as  had  earned 
it"  (as  they  used  to  say  vulgarly  in  Naples  at  the  time) ;  he  basked  in 
his  sovereign's  favour,  and  he  put  up  as  best  he  could  with  his 
mistress. 

If  I  have  sat  once  in  the  San-Carlo  theatre,  I  have  sat  a  score  of 
times,  and  listened  to  Signorina  Colbran  embark  upon  an  aria,  which 
after  the  first  few  bars,  would  tail  off  into  the  most  excruciating,  the 
most  insupportable  cacophony;  and  one  by  one  I  have  watched  my 
neighbours  creep  out  of  their  seats,  shaking,  neurotic,  their  patience 
frayed  and  their  endurance  exhausted — yet  all  in  dead  ^ilence,  with 
out  a  word!  And  after  that,  let  anyone  deny  that  terror  be  the  prin 
ciple  of  despotic  government* — if  anyone  dare !  Or  deny  that,  as  a 
principle  of  any  government,  it  can  work  miracles!  ...  when  it  can 
compel  silence  upon  a  crowd  of  furious  Neapolitans !  !  On  those 
occasions,  I  used  to  accompany  my  neighbours  outside  the  theatre, 
and  together  we  would  take  a  stroll  around  the  Largo  di  Castello ; 
and  then,  some  twenty  minutes  or  so  later,  we  would  return  sheep- 


ROSSINI  IN  NAPLES  151 

ishly  to  our  seats,  just  in  case  we  might  happen  to  hit  on  some  odd 
duet,  some  forgotten  ensemble,  which  the  fatal  protegee  of  the  King 
and  of  Signor  Barbaja  was  not,  for  once,  devastating  and  laying  waste 
with  the  noble  ruin  of  her  voice.  During  the  ephemeral  rule  of  the 
constitutional  government  of  1821,  Signorina  Colbran  never  once 
dared  show  her  face  upon  the  stage  without  first  sending  on  a 
prologue  to  grovel  in  abject  apology;  and  the  audience,  to  show  their 
opinion  of  her,  found  especial  amusement  in  building  up  a  tremend 
ous  reputation  for  a  certain  Mademoiselle  Chaumel  (known  in 
Naples  as  la  Comelli),  who  was  well  known  to  be  her  detested  rival 
in  every  respect. 


CHAPTER  XII 
Elisabetta,  regina  d*  Inghilterra 

ACT  ONE 

"  the  autumn  of  1815,  however,  when  Rossini  arrived  in  Naples 
and  produced  his  Elisabetta^  matters  had  not  yet  reached  this  com 
pletely  scandalous  pass;  the  public  was  very  far  from  execrating 
Signorina  Colbran,  and  never  before  or  since  did  she  possess  greater 
beauty  than  at  that  time.  It  was  a  beauty  in  the  most  queenly  tradi 
tion:  noble  features,  which,  on  the  stage,  radiated  majesty;  an  eye 
like  that  of  a  Circassian  maiden,  darting  fire;  and  to  crown  it  all,  a 
true  and  deep  instinct  for  tragedy.  Off-stage,  she  possessed  about  as 
much  dignity  as  the  average  milliner's-assistant;  but  the  moment  she 
stepped  on  to  the  boards,  her  brow  encircled  with  a  royal  diadem,  she 
inspired  involuntary  respect,  even  among  those  who,  a  minute  or  two 
earlier,  had  been  chatting  intimately  with  her  in  the  foyer  of  the 
theatre. 

Walter  Scott's  novel  Kenilworth  was  not  published  until  1820; 
nevertheless,  its  existence  makes  it  superfluous  for  me  to  give  a  full 
analysis  of  the  plot  of  Rossini's  opera,  although  in  f&ctElisabetta  was 
produced  five  years  earlier.  The  very  name  Elizabeth  conjures  up  so 
clear  a  picture  of  the  character  of  this  illustrious  queen,  that  there  is 
nothing  I  need  add — a  queen  in  whose  nature  the  noblest  virtues  of 
a  great  sovereign  are  from  time  to  time  eclipsed  by  the  human  weak 
ness  of  a  beautiful  woman  gazing  regretfully  at  the  shadow  of  her 
departing  youth.  In  the  libretto,  as  in  the  novel,  Leicester,  Elizabeth's 
favourite,  is  on  the  point  of  mounting  the  steps  to  the  throne,  and  of 
receiving  the  offer  of  the  queen's  hand;  he  however,  being  in  love 
with  a  lady  of  sweeter  disposition  and  less  imperious  demeanour, 
whom  he  has  had  the  temerity  to  wed  in  secret,  has  only  one  hope, 
which  is  to  deceive  the  sharp  eyes  of  a  love  which  is  not  only  jealous, 
but  which  is  moreover  armed  with  the  sovereign  power  and  authority. 
In  the  opera,  the  secretly-wedded  wife  is  not  called  Amy  Robsart,  but 
Matilda.  The  libretto  is  a  translation  from  a  French  melodrama*, 


ELISABETTA,  REGINA  D'lNGHILTERRA  153 

perpetrated  by  a  Tuscan-born  gentleman  by  the  name  of  Smith, 
whose  home  was  in  Naples. 

The  opening  duet,  in  the  minor  key,  between  Leicester  and  his 
young  wife,  is  not  only  magnificent,  but  extremely  original.  Elisa- 
betta  was  the  first  music  written  by  Rossini  which  had  been  heard  in 
Naples,  and  his  great  reputation,  acquired  exclusively  in  the  north 
ern  provinces  of  Italy,  had  predisposed  the  Neapolitan  audiences  to 
be  hypercritical  in  their  standards  of  judgment;  none  the  less,  it  may 
justly  be  claimed  that  this  first  duet, 

Incauta!  chefesti?1 

determined  not  only  the  success  of  this  particular  opera,  but  also  the 
wider  triumph  of  its  composer. 

A  courtier  by  the  name  of  Norfolk,  jealous  of  the  high  favours 
which  the  Queen's  love  has  heaped  upon  Leicester,  betrays  to  Eliza 
beth  that  the  unworthy  man,  whom  her  royal  pride  already  rebukes 
her  for  loving,  has  audaciously  entered  upon  a  secret  marriage.  He 
reveals  that  her  favourite,  newly  returned  in  triumph  from  the 
Scottish  wars  (and  whose  victorious  arrival  provides  the  setting  for 
the  opening  scene  of  the  first  act),  has  brought  back  with  him  his 
newly-wedded  wife,  concealed  among  a  party  of  youthful  hostages 
whom  the  Scots  have  despatched  to  Elizabeth,  and  whom  the  Queen 
has  recently  admitted  as  pages  into  her  own  household.  Thus, 
Norfolk  continues,  she  has  unwittingly  made  her  young  rival,  who  is 
disguised  in  man's  costume,  a  guest  at  her  own  court.  The  instant  of 
fury  and  profound  deception  which  follows  is  musically  superb. 
Pride  and  love,  the  Queen's  two  obsessing  passions,  struggle  most 
cruelly  for  the  possession  of  her  soul.  The  duet  between  the  Queen 
and  Norfolk, 

Con  qual  fulmine  improvise, 
Mi  percosse  irato  il  cielo!2 

was  received  just  as  enthusiastically  in  Paris  as  it  had  been  earlier  in 
Naples.  Its  temper  is  at  once  fiery  and  majestic — an  excellent  com 
bination  in  any  portrayal  of  pride ;  but  the  love-element  is  disappoint 
ing,  appearing  merely  as  so  much  ranting  and  raging. 

The  Queen,  beside  herself  with  fury,  commands  the  Lord  Marshal 
of  the  Court  to  draw  up  the  guards,  and  to  warn  them  to  be  ready  to 

1  Incautious  woman  1  What  have  you  done? 

a  With  what  sudden  thunderbolt  has  angry  heaven  struck  me! 


154  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

carry  out  her  orders  promptly  and  implicitly,  whatever  these  may  be. 
At  the  same  time,  she  commands  him  to  have  brought  into  her 
presence  all  the  Scottish  hostages,  and  finally  to  summon  Leicester, 
whom  she  desires  to  see  instantly.  Having  issued  this  swift  series  of 
commands,  in  a  breathless,  staccato  rush  of  words,  Elizabeth  remains 
alone.  In  this  instant,  it  must  be  confessed,  Signorina  Colbran  was 
magnificent;  she  allowed  herself  no  gestures;  she  simply  paced  up 
and  down,  unable  to  control  herself,  to  force  herself  into  stillness 
while  she  awaited  the  setting  of  the  stage  and  the  arrival  of  her  false 
lover;  her  eyes  alone  betrayed  that  her  mind  was  burning  with  the 
single  word  which  inexorably  would  send  her  lover  to  his  death.  This 
is  precisely  the  sort  of  situation  which  operatic  music  requires  and 
thrives  on! 

At  length,  Leicester  appears;  but  at  the  very  same  instant,  the 
Scottish  hostages  are  introduced  into  the  audience-chamber.  Eliza 
beth,  her  eyes  blazing  with  fury,  scans  the  crowd  of  pages  to  pick  out 
the  object  of  her  hatred;  and  Matilda's  confusion  soon  betrays  her. 
Broken,  unfinished  sentences  and  phrases  hint  at  the  violence  of  the 
passions  which  are  at  stake;  but  in  the  end,  recitative  gives  place  to 
singing,  and  the  first-act  finale  begins.  The  Queen,  understanding 
that  she  has  been  betrayed  by  everyone  and  everything  around  her, 
gives  secret  instructions  to  one  of  the  guards,  who  shortly  afterwards 
reappears  carrying  a  cushion  draped  in  a  veil.  Elizabeth,  with  a  final 
glance  at  Matilda  and  Leicester,  sweeps  this  veil  angrily  aside.  There, 
on  the  cushion,  lies  revealed  the  crown  of  England;  and  Elizabeth 
offers  it  to  Leicester,  together  with  her  own  hand. 

As  a  pure  dramatic  climax,  this  scene  is  magnificent.  In  straight 
tragedy,  a  technical  piece  of  business  of  this  character  may  be  out  of 
place ;  but  in  opera,  which  thrives  on  the  melodramatic  and  the  visual, 
it  is  superb  and  unbelievably  effective  on  the  stage. 

Elizabeth,  who  extracts  a  kind  of  grim  pleasure  from  her  own  fury, 
mutters  to  herself: 

Qual  colpo  inaspettato* 

Che  lor  serbava  ilfato, 

IVgelo  delta  morte 

Impallidir  life!1 

1  Like  an  unexpected  blow  that  Fate  had  stored  up  for  them,  the  chill  of  death 
has  made  them  grow  pale! 


ELISABETTA,  REGINA  D'lNGHILTERRA  155 

But  Leicester,  in  rash  disobedience,  rejects  the  Queen's  offer;  she,  in 
ungoverned  fury,  snatches  at  the  young  "page",  and  drags  him 
forward  to  the  front  of  the  stage,  hoarsely  shouting  at  her  lover:  "So 
this  is  the  vile  creature  who  has  taught  you  to  become  a  traitor!" 
Matilda  and  Leicester,  realizing  that  they  have  been  betrayed,  are 
overwhelmed  with  confusion,  replying  in  broken  phrases  to  Eliza 
beth's  accusations.  Elizabeth  summons  her  guards,  in  whose  wake 
there  enters  the  entire  court,  which  therefore  is  able  to  witness  every 
detail  of  the  tragic  crisis,  including  the  resounding  disgrace  of 
Leicester,  whom  the  Queen  orders  to  surrender  his  sword. 

No  librettist  could  have  imagined  a  more  inspiring  finale,  at  least 
from  the  composer's  point  of  view;  music,  divine  art  as  it  is,  cannot 
depict  political  upheavals;  try  as  it  may  to  illustrate  dramas  of  this 
character,  private  crises  invariably  submerge  public  revolutions.  But 
in  this  instance,  all  the  emotions  concerned— -jealousy,  which  is  tor 
menting  Elizabeth  to  the  very  brink  of  madness;  despair,  growing 
ever  blacker  in  Leicester;  and  love,  unbelievably  sad  and  touching  in 
his  young  wife — are  all  intimate  and  personal,  and  therefore  admir 
ably  suited  to  the  purposes  of  music.  None  the  less,  it  would  be  quite 
false  to  suggest  that  it  was  the  libretto  which  was  chiefly  responsible 
for  Rossini's  triumph.  At  the  premiere,  the  Neapolitans  simply  went 
mad  with  delight.  I  shall  never  forget  that  first  evening.  It  was  a  gala- 
day  at  Court;  but  I  remember  observing  that  the  party  (which  in 
cluded  myself)  gathered  in  the  box  of  the  Princess  Belmonte  to  wit 
ness  the  opening  performance,  was  at  first  inclined  to  be  decidedly 
severe  in  its  welcome  to  this  new  maestro,  who  had  been  born  far 
from  the  shores  of  Naples,  and  who  had  acquired  his  resounding 
reputation  among  "foreigners". 

But,  as  I  have  already  mentioned,  the  opening  duet,  in  the  minor 
key,  between  the  ambitious  Leicester  (Nozzari)  and  his  young  wife 
(Signorina  Dardanelli)  disguised  as  a  page,  disarmed  the  severest 
critic,  and  Rossini's  entrancing  style  had  soon  completely  seduced 
the  most  stubborn  resisters.  Elisabetta  offered  all  the  great  emotional 
tension  and  drama  of  the  opera  seria,  without  exacting  the  usual  toll 
of  dreariness  and  boredom. 

The  circumstance  that  it  was  a  gala-day  also  prevailed  in  favour  of 
the  maestro.  There  is  nothing  like  the  brilliant  ceremonial  of  a 
festival  at  Court  to  whet  the  appetite  for  flamboyant  splendour,  or  to 


156  LIFE  0£  ROSSIKI 

banish  the  preoccupations  of  solitary  grief  and  unrequited  love.  And 
it  must  be  admitted  that,  musically  speaking,  Elisabetta  tends  con 
siderably  more  towards  magnificence  than  towards  pathos;  not  an 
episode  but  where  the  voices  blare  away  like  clarinets;  and  the 
most  thrilling  passages  often  turn  out,  on  analysis,  to  be  nothing  but 
music  scored  for  orchestra. 

But  at  the  first  performance,  we  were  a  thousand  leagues  removed 
from  the  cold  rationality  of  such  criticism.  There  is  only  one  phrase 
to  describe  our  reactions  with  any  semblance  of  adequacy:  we 
were  literally  swept  off  our  feet! 

Having  discussed  this  superb  first-act  finale  at  some  length,  I  have 
just  realized  that  I  forgot  to  mention  the  overture.  Yet  it  was  the 
overture  which  heralded  the  triumph  of  the  whole  opera.  Neverthe 
less,  I  recall  a  certain  Signor  M***,  a  connoisseur  of  the  highest 
order,  coming  round  to  Princess  Belmonte's  box  and  remarking: 
"You  know,  this  is  precisely  the  same  overture  as  he  used  for 
Aureliano  in  Palmira,  with  just  a  few  new  touches  in  the  orchestra 
tion!"  It  turned  out  later,  of  course,  that  nothing  could  have  been 
more  correct.  A  year  later  still,  when  Rossini  went  to  Rome  to  write 
the  Barber  of  Seville,  his  laziness  tempted  him  to  make  use  of  this 
identical  overture  for  yet  a  third  time!  Thus  the  same  music  is  pressed 
into  service  to  portray,  in  the  one  instance,  the  struggles  between  love 
and  pride  in  one  of  the  noblest  minds  of  which  history  has  ever  left 
record;  and  in  the  other,  the  inanities  of  Figaro  the  Barber!  Yet  it  is 
true  that  the  slightest  change  of  tempo  will  often  suffice  to  transform 
the  merriest  jig  into  the  saddest  and  most  melancholy  of  pavanes. 
Try  the  experiment  yourself,  by  singing  Mozart's  ariay 

Nonpiu  andrai  farfallone  amoroso  ...1 

in  increasingly  slow  time. 

In  Elisabetta,  the  principle  themes  of  this  overture,  which  Rossini 
was  to  call  so  repeatedly  into  service,  form  the  concluding  statement 
of  the  first-act 


1  No  more  will  you  flit  about  like  a  large  and  amorous  butterfly  ...  (addressed 
to  Cherubino). 


CHAPTER  XIII 

Elisabetta,  regina  d'Inghilterra 
(continued) 

TACT  TWO 
HE  second  act  opens  with  a  scene  which  is  quite  magnificent. 
Elizabeth,  terrible  in  her  fury,  commands  her  guards  to  summon  the 
trembling  Matilda  into  her  presence.  Her  purpose  is  revealed  in  the 
fateful  words : 

T  inoltra,  in  me  tu  vedi 
II  tuo  giudice,  o  donna!1 

Reasons  of  State  decree  that  death  and  ignominy  shall  be  the 
lot  of  any  woman  who,  being  a  known  enemy  of  the  realm,  shall, 
dare  introduce  herself  into  my  court  in  the  treachery  of  disguise. 
Yet  a  grain  of  mercy  still  lies  concealed  in  my  soul.  Take  up  this  pen, 
and  renounce,  once  and  for  ever,  any  claims  you  may  imagine  you 
hold  over  the  heart  and  fortunes  of  ambitious  Leicester.  Recant  and 
save  yourself! 

This  recitative,  with  its  fully  orchestral  accompaniment,  is  superb. 
On  the  first  night  it  sent  terror  thrilling  through  every  heart.  It  is 
impossible,  without  having  watched  Signorina  Colbran  in  this  scene, 
to  understand  thQ  furore  which  she  inspired  in  Naples,  and  the  mad 
things  which  were  done  in  her  name  at  this  time. 

An  Englishman,  one  of  Barbaja's  rivals,  had  had  sent  out  from 
England  a  set  of  extremely  accurate  sketches,  which  made  it  possible 
to  reproduce  exactly,  and  in  every  detail,  the  costume  of  this  severe- 
minded  monarch.  These  XVlth  century  dresses  turned  out  to  be 
exquisitely  becoming  to  the  wondrous  figure  and  classical  features  of 
Signorina  Colbran.  Everybody  in  the  audience  knew  the  story  of  the 
costumes,  and  of  their  historical  accuracy;  and  so  all  the  prestige  of 
history  lay  like  a  sacred  mantle  over  her  majestic  presence,  adding 
still  further  to  her  astonishing  beauty.  Kenilworth  itself5  filling  a 
1  Advance!  O  woman,  in  me  you  behold  your  judge! 


158  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

romantic  imagination  with  exalted  dreams,  never  conjured  up  a 
more  splendid  or  a  more  queenly  Elizabeth.  In  all  the  huge  arena  of 
the  San-Carlo,  there  can  scarcely  have  been  a  man  who  had  not,  at 
that  moment,  thought  death  an  insignificant  price  to  pay  for  a  glance 
from  so  beautiful  a  Queen. 

Signorina  Colbran,  as  Elizabeth,  used  no  gestures,  did  nothing 
melodramatic,  never  descended  to  what  are  vulgarly  called  tragedy- 
queen  poses.  The  immensity  of  her  royal  authority,  the  vastness  of 
events  which  a  single  word  from  her  lips  could  call  into  being,  all  this 
lived  in  the  Spanish  beauty  of  her  eyes,  which  at  times  could  be  so 
terrible.  Her  glance  was  that  of  a  queen  whose  fury  is  restrained  only 
by  a  last  rag  of  pride;  her  whole  presence  was  that  of  a  woman  who 
still  has  beauty,  and  who  for  years  has  grown  accustomed  to  behold 
ing  her  first  hint  of  a  whim  followed  by  the  swiftest  obedience.1 

1  //  celere  obbedir. 

The  phrase  conies  from  Manzoni's  il  cinque  Maggio.  I  know  no  other  poem 
which  is  worthy  of  its  noble  subject* : 

Eifu;  siccome  immobile, 
Data  il  mortal  sospiro, 
Stette  la  spoglia  immemore 
Orba  di  un  tanto  spiro, 
Cost  percossa  e  attonita 
La  Terra  al  nunzio  sta. 

Muta  pensando  alV  ultima 
Or  a  deW  uomfatale, 
Ne  sa  quando  una  simile 
Orma  dipie  mortale 
La  sua  cruenta  polvere 
A  calpestar  verra. 


Alpi  alle  Piramidi, 
Dal  Mansanare  al  Reno, 
Di  quel  securo  ilfulmine 
Tenea  dietro  al  baleno; 
Scoppid  da  Scilla,  al  Tanai, 
Dair  uno  aW  altro  mar. 

FU  vera  gloria?  aiposteri 
Uardua  sentenza;  noi 
Chiniam  lafronte  al  Massimo 
Fattor  che  voile  in  Lui 
Del  creator  suo  spirito 
PiU  vasta  orma  stampar. 


ELISABETTA,  REGINA  D'lNGHILTERRA  159 

When  Signorina  Colbran  talked  with  Matilda,  it  was  impossible  to 
escape  the  irrefutable  conviction  that  this  woman  had  reigned  for 

Ei  sparve,  e  i  dl  nelV  ozio 
Chiuse  in  si  breve  sponda, 
Segno  d'immensa  invidia, 
E  di  pieta  profonda, 
D'inestinguibil  odio, 
E  d'indomato  amor. 


Oh!  quante  volte  al  tacito 
Morir  di  un  giorno  inerte, 
Chinati  i  raifulminei, 
Le  braccia  al  sen  conserte, 
Stette,  e  die  dl  chefurono 
Uassalse  il  sovvenir 

Ei  ripensb  le  mobili 
Tende,  i  percossi  valli, 
E  il  lampo  del  mampoti, 
E  Vonda  dei  cayalli, 
E  il  concitato  imperio, 
E  il  celere  obbedir. 


t  This  poem  is  one  of  the  most  eliptical  in  the  Italian  language:  it  is  only  with  the 
greatest  misgivings  that  the  translator  appends  the  following  rough  paraphrase: 

He  (Napoleon)  is  no  more;  only  the  mortal  flesh  remains  behind,  for  the  last 
breath  has  flown,  the  great  spirit  has  gone,  and  the  shape  of  clay  lies  quiet, 
forgetful  of  the  glory  which  is  now  the  past;  or  so  it  seems,  so  thunderstruck  is  all 
the  world  by  the  rumour  of  his  death. ... 

The  Earth  is  silent,  remembering  the  latest  hour  of  this  man  of  Destiny;  nor 
can  she  prophesy  when  she  will  see  Ms  mortal  like  again,  or  feel  a  similar  foot 
print  trampling  upon  her  bleeding  dust. 

From  the  Alps  to  the  Pyramids,  from  Manzanarrfc  to  the  Rhine,  his  steadfast 
shadow  was  in  the  sky;  he  was  the  storm  and  the  lightning;  and  behind  the  light 
ning  lay  the  threat  of  the  thunderbolt;  the  echo  and  the  noise  reverberated  from 
ScyUa  to  the  Tanai,  from  one  sea  to  the  other. 

Yet  ...  was  this  true  glory?  Posterity,  not  ourselves,  shall  make  the  arduous 
judgment.  It  is  for  us  to  bow  our  heads  before  the  Great  Maker,  whose  will  it  was 
to  create  him,  the  greater  Image  and  Stamp  of  his  creative  spirit. . . . 

He  vanished  from  our  eyes  in  distant  exile;  and  his  last  days  trickled  away  in 
ease  and  indolence  within  the  narrow  limits  of  an  island-prison — a  cell  whose 
smallness  was  itself  a  symbol,  reflecting  the  immensity  of  envy,  the  profoundness 
of  compassion,  the  inextinguishable  hatred  and  the  indomitable  love  which  were 
focused  on  his  being. . . . 

How  many  times,  as  the  inert  day  faded  into  the  hush  of  death,  has  he  stood 
with  his  flashing  eyes  bent  to  the  ground,  with  his  arms  folded  across  his  breast . . . 
and  so  he  would  be  assailed  by  haunting  visions  of  the  days  that  had  already 
passed  and  vanished; 

And  once  again  he  would  call  to  mind  the  ephemeral  cities  of  a  camping 
army,  and  the  legions  with  their  flash  of  arms,  and  the  waves  of  cavalry,  and  the 
High  Command  with  all  its  bustle,  and  the  swift  obedience  that  followed  when  he 
spoke. ... 


160  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

twenty  years  as  a  queen  whose  authority  was  absolute  and  supreme. 
It  was  the  ingrained  acceptance  of  the  manners  and  mannerisms  bred 
by  despotic  power,  it  was  the  unmistakable  absence  of  the  least 
shadow  of  doubt  concerning  the  devoted  obedience  which  would 
greet  the  most  insignificant  and  capricious  of  her  commands,  which 
characterized  the  acting  of  this  great  artist;  all  this  wealth  of 
exquisitely-observed  detail  could  be  read  into  the  statuesque  calm  of 
her  every  gesture.  And  when,  rarely,  she  did  move,  it  was  as  though 
the  breaking  of  the  stillness  were  forced  upon  her  from  within,  by  the 
clash  of  turbulent  passions  in  her  soul;  not  once  was  it  merely  to 
threaten,  to  impress,  to  constrain  obedience  to  her  will  The  very 
greatest  of  our  tragic  actors,  even  the  great  Talma  himself,  are  not 
exempt  from  the  weakness  of  imperious  and  theatrical  gestures  when 
they  play  the  parts  of  tyrants  and  despots.  It  may  be  that  this 
theatricality,  this  characteristic  genus  of  tragic  swagger,  is  merely  a 
sop  flung  to  the  exacting  tastelessness  and  vulgarity  of  the  pit  which, 
in  France  and  elsewhere,  decides  the  fate  of  tragedies;  but,  for  all  the 
wild  applause  they  may  elicit,  extravagant  mannerisms  and  gestures 
in  this  tradition  are  none  the  less  absurd.  No  man  in  the  world  uses 
fewer  gestures  than  a  despotic  monarch;1  why  should  he  rant  and 
gesticulate?  He  has  for  so  long  been  accustomed  to  implicit  obedi 
ence,  that  emphatic  movement  is  merely  superfluous;  swift  as  light 
ning,  an  imperceptible  nod  brings  fulfilment  to  his  every  wish. 

The  superb  scene  in  which  Signorina  Colbran  displayed  such 
greatness  as  a  tragic  actress  comes  to  an  end  with  a  duet  between  the 
Queen  and  Matilda: 

Pensa  che  sol  per  poco 
Sospendo  V  ir&  mia  ...,2 

which  soon  changes  into  a  trio  with  the  entry  of  Leicester. 

The  story  runs  that  it  was  Rossini's  own  inspiration  to  have 
Leicester  make  his  entry  between  the  two  women,  the  one  scarcely 
holding  back  her  seething  outbursts  of  fury,  the  other  exalted  to  a 
state  of  unnatural  violence  by  the  despair  which  true  love  has 
wrought  in  the  heart  of  a  girl  of  sixteen.  Given  the  exigencies  of  the 
medium,  the  conception  is  indeed  something  near  to  pure  genius. 

1  Alfieri,  Vita;  portrait  of  Louis  XV. 

2  Think  ...  it  is  only  for  a  brief  space  that  I  am  withholding  my  wrath  ... 


ELISABETTA,  REGINA  D'lNGHILTERRA  161 

Following  this  great  trio  come  two  arias,  one  by  Norfolk  (origin 
ally  played  by  Garcia),  the  second  by  Leicester  (Nozzari) ;  both  are 
reasonably  well  written.  The  quality  of  the  singing  needs  no  des 
cription;  suffice  it  to  say  that  two  great  tenors,  ardent  rivals  in  their 
art,  were  appearing  together  upon  a  great  and  solemn  occasion 
before  an  audience  comprising  all  the  greatest  personages  in  the  land, 
and  all  the  most  sophisticated  connoisseurs  in  Naples.  On  the  other 
hand,  considered  purely  as  pieces  of  composition,  both  arias  had  a 
faint  flavour  of  the  commonplace,  and  seemed  to  fall  rather  below 
the  high  standard  of  the  rest  of  the  opera. 

Leicester  is  imprisoned  and  condemned  to  death  by  the  High 
Courts  of  the  Realm.  A  few  instants  before  his  execution,  Elizabeth 
is  seized  with  intense  horror  at  the  prospect  of  losing  for  ever  the  one 
man  who  had  succeeded  in  awakening  softer  feelings  in  a  heart 
wholly  devoted  to  ambition  and  to  the  sombre  enjoyment  of  power. 
At  the  last  minute  she  decides  to  visit  Leicester  in  prison,  whither  the 
traitor  Norfolk  had  preceded  her,  only  to  hide  behind  one  of  the 
pillars  of  the  dungeon  upon  her  arrival.  The  two  lovers  talk;  and 
gradually,  as  they  come  to  understand  that  Norfolk  was  the  villain 
who  had  attempted  to  destroy  Leicester,  are  reconciled.  Norfolk, 
realizing  now  that  he  has  been  unmasked,  and  that  there  is  no 
hope  of  pardon,  draws  a  dagger  and  rushes  at  Elizabeth.  But 
Matilda,  Leicester's  young  wife,  who  had  come  to  bid  him  a  final 
adieu,  cries  out  a  warning,  and  so  succeeds  in  saving  the  Queen's 
life, 

Elizabeth,  already  half-converted  as  a  result  of  her  conversation 
with  Leicester,  pardons  the  young  lovers;  and  Rossini  makes  amends 
for  the  two  rather  unsatisfactory  arias  of  the  preceding  scene  with 
one  of  the  most  magnificent  finales  that  he  ever  composed. 

When  the  Queen  cries  out: 

BelV  alme  generose  ...* 

the  enthusiasm  of  the  audience  knew  no  bounds.  Fully  fifteen  per 
formances  had  to  be  witnessed  before  we  were  finally  restored  to  a 
state  of  sanity,  and  able  to  submit  our  delight  in  this  superb  passage 
to  the  tempering  judgment  of  rational  criticism*. 
Elizabeth  pardons  Leicester  and  Matilda  in  the  following  phrases: 
1  Fair,  generous  souls  ... 


162  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

Beir  alme  generose, 
A  questo  sen  venite; 
Vivete,  ormai  gioite, 
State  felici  ognor.1 

When,  in  the  end,  we  had  sufficiently  recovered  our  senses,  so  as  to  be 
capable  of  criticizing  and  examining,  we  discovered  that  the  music  of 
this  passage  had  all  the  still,  sweet  calm  of  the  hush  that  follows  the 
storm.  On  the  other  hand,  I  would  like  to  suggest  that,  in  the  short 
space  of  these  20-30  bars,  Rossini  has  included  a  specimen  of  every 
one  of  those  aggravating  defects  which  tend  to  mar  his  style.  The 
principle  melodic  line  is  smothered  beneath  cascade  upon  cascade  of 
ill-assorted  ornamentation,  beneath  a  rolling  lava-stream  of  roulades 
which  show  every  sign  of  having  been  designed  for  wind-instruments 
rather  than  for  the  human  voice. 

However,  when  all  is  said  and  done,  we  must  give  him  his  due  as 
he  deserves.  Rossini  had  just  arrived  in  Naples;  and,  being  deter 
mined  to  succeed  at  any  price,  he  had  necessarily  to  cater  for  the 
tastes  of  his  prima  donna,  since  it  was  she  who  held  Barbaja,  the 
theatre-manager,  in  the  hollow  of  her  hand.  Now  Signorina  Colbran's 
repertoire  had  never  included  any  particular  talent  for  pathos;  her 
genius,  like  her  person,  was  all  magnificence  and  splendour;  she  was 
a  queen,  she  was  Elizabeth;  but  it  was  the  Elizabeth  who  issued 
commands  from  the  height  of  her  throne,  and  not  the  Elizabeth  who 
could  pardon  with  a  generous  heart. 

Even  if  the  natural  bent  of  Rossini's  own  inspiration  had  been 
towards  the  pathetic  (which  I  am  very  far  from  admitting  to  be  the 
case),  he  would  have  been  obliged  to  curb  and  restrain  this  natural 
tendency  because  of  the  vocal  limitations  of  the  celebrated  prima 
donna  to  whom  the  rdle  of  Elizabeth  was  to  be  entrusted. 

In  the  passage: 

Bell9  alme  generose  , . . 

Rossini  resorted  to  the  somewhat  naive  device  of  heaping  together 
all  the  vocal  ornaments  which  Signorina  Colbran  had  a  flair  for 
executing  effectively,  into  one  huge,  formless  amalgamation,  regard 
less  of  their  character  or  origin.  We  were  regaled  with  a  sort  of  illus 
trated  catalogue  of  all  the  technical  accomplishments  which  that 
1  Fair,  generous  souls,  come  to  this  breast;  live,  rejoice  now,  be  happy  for  ever. 


ELISABETTA,  REGINA  D'lNGHILTERRA  163 

magnificent  voice  could  master;  and  the  result  provided  an  unrivalled 
demonstration  of  the  value  of  pure  technical  virtuosity  in  music;  for 
this  fantastic  conglomeration  of  embellishments  was  handled  with 
such  superb  skill  that,  in  spite  of  the'patent  absurdity  of  the  entire 
conception,  it  took  fully  fifteen  to  twenty  performances  before  we 
were  at  last  able  to  realize  that  the  whole  lot  was  entirely  out  of 
place. 

Rossini,  who  is  never  at  a  loss  for  a  retort,  had  an  answer  ready  to 
meet  our  criticism.  "Elizabeth,"  he  maintained,  "remains  a  queen, 
even  in  the  act  of  granting  a  pardon.  In  so  proud  a  heart,  mercy  is 
never  a  pure  act  of  undiluted  generosity;  it  is  always,  in  part  at  least, 
a  political  gesture.  Furthermore,  can  you  tell  me  of  any  woman,  let 
alone  a  queen,  who  can  genuinely  forgive  the  insult  of  seeing  another 
woman  preferred  to  herself?" 

At  this  point  in  the  argument,  the  dilettanti  began  to  get  angry. 
"Every  note  in  the  whole  opera,"  they  maintained,  "is  vitiated  by  this 
same  lack  of  pathos;  the  music  is  magniloquent,  but  nothing  more  ... 
just  like  the  talent  of  your  prima  donnal  The  role  of  Matilda,  for 
example,  should  be  steeped  in  tenderness;  yet — with  the  solitary 
exception  of  the  opening  bars  of  the  trio, 

Pensa  che  sol  per  poco  ... 

— you  have  given  us  nothing  in  that  vein  at  all;  and  even  those  few 
bars  have  the  plain  simplicity  of  a  nocturne,  rather  than  the  tender 
warmth  of  a  lover's  aria.  All  the  same,  this  isolated  passage  does  give 
the  listener  an  instant  of  respite  amid  all  the  surrounding  splendour; 
and  in  fact,  four-fifths  of  the  pleasure  which  it  inspires  are  due  solely 
to  the  fact  of  this  contrast.  Now,  why  not  admit  frankly  that, 
throughout  the  work,  you  have  consistently  sacrificed  both  dramatic 
emphasis  and  expression  to  la  Colbran's  passion  for  embroidery?" 

"I  have  sacrificed  to  one  idol,  and  to  one  only"  retorted  Rossini, 
with  that  streak  of  pride  which  becomes  him  so  admirably.  "I  have 
sacrificed  to  successl" 

At  this  point,  the  genial  archbishop  of  T***  (*)  rallied  to  Rossini's 
defence. 

"In  Rome,"  he  said,  "when  Scipio  was  accused  before  all  the 
people,  the  only  reply  he  would  vouchsafe  to  Ms  enemies  was: 
Romans!  Ten  years  ago,  on  just  such  another  day,  I  destroyed  Carthage;, 


164  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

therefore  let  us  go  now  to  the  Capitol,  and  render  thanks  to  the 
immortal  gods!" 

One  thing  is  certain:  the  impression  created  by  Elisabetta  was 
prodigious.  And  although  it  is  greatly  inferior  to  Otello,  for  example, 
yet  it  contains  many  passages  which  are  bewitchingly  fresh  and 
original. 

To-day,  looking  back  upon  the  occasion  with  a  cool  and  detached 
mind,  I  would  say  that  it  was  a  mistake  to  have  written  the  parts  of 
Norfolk  and  Leicester  for  two  tenors.  However,  I  can  answer  for 
Rossini's  rejoinder  to  that  criticism:  "I  happened  to  have  two  tenors 
at  my  disposal,  whereas  I  had  no  basso  to  play  Norfolk."  But  the 
truth  is  that,  before  Rossini's  time,  it  was  a  tradition  that  major  parts 
in  opera  seria  should  never  be  given  to  the  bass.  Rossini  himself  was 
the  first  composer  ever  to  score  difficult  parts  for  this  type  of  voice  in 
opera  di  mezzo  carattere,  as,  for  instance,  in  la  Cenerentola,  la  Gazza 
ladra,  Torvaldo  e  Dorliska,  etc. ;  and  it  may  truly  be  claimed  that  it  is 
to  his  music  that  singers  such  as  Lablache,  Zuchelli,  Galli,  Remorini 
and  Ambrosi  owe  their  real  origin. 


i 


CHAPTER  XIV 
The  ten  Operas  of  Rossini's  "Neapolitan"  Period 


,N  the  space  of  one  year,  Signorina  Colbran  sang  in  Rossini's 
Elisabetta,  in  Caraffa's  Gabriele  di  Vergy,  and  in  Mayer's  Cora  and 
Medea;  in  each  part  she  was  magnificent,  performing  miracles  of 
pure  virtuosity  with  her  voice.  At  that  period,  the  San-Carlo  was  the 
scene  of  a  musical  banquet  rich  and  varied  enough  to  satisfy  the  most 
ardent  and  the  most  hypercritical  of  music-lovers;  for  Signorina 
Colbran's  supporting  cast  included  the  younger  Davide,  Nozzari, 
Garcia  and  Siboni.  But  alas!  this  season  of  glory  was  short-lived;  in 
the  following  year,  1816,  Signorina  Colbran's  voice  began  to  show 
signs  of  wear,  and  soon  it  became1  an  unparalleled  piece  of  good  luck 
to  hear  her  get  through  an  aria  without  disaster.  Even  when  she  did 
sing  in  tune,  the  lurking  awareness  that  she  might  at  any  moment  go 
wrong  was  enough  to  kill  all  the  delight  which  one  might  otherwise 
have  gathered  from  her  singing — so  true  it  is  that,  even  in  music,  an 
instant  of  pleasure  can  only  be  truly  consummated  while  the  critical 
faculties  are  lulled  into  silence.  In  France,  this  major  truth  will  never 
be  understood;  for  the  Frenchman  will  never  forsake  his  belief  that 
the  spirit  of  criticism  is  the  only  fitting  spirit  in  which  to  approach  the 
Temple  of  the  Arts. 

We  used  to  wait  eagerly,  until  the  critical  moment  arrived  when 
Signorina  Colbran  was  to  embark  upon  her  opening  bars;  then  if  we 
found  that  she  was  firmly  resolved  to  sing  out  of  key,  we  likewise  took 
a  firm  resolve,  and  chatted  away  ostentatiously  among  ourselves 
until  it  was  all  over,  or  else  escaped  outside  into  a  coffee-house  and 
ate  ices.  After  a  few  months  of  these  and  similar  excursions,  the 
audience  began  to  grow  bored  with  the  whole  thing,  gave  up  the 
pretence  of  deluding  itself  that  poor  Signorina  Colbran  was  all  she 
had  been  in  her  younger  days,  and  waited  expectantly  for  the  man 
agement  to  get  rid  of  her.  Nothing  happened.  Naturally,  there  was  a 
little  grumbling — and  this  was  the  point  at  which  the  fatal  "protec 
tion",  of  which  la  Colbran  enjoyed  the  privilege,  began  to  show  itself 


166  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

in  its  true  colours:  the  harshest  of  tyrants  robbing  a  whole  nation, 
not  only  of  its  favourite  delight,  but  also  of  the  notable  wonder 
which  had  been  its  traditional  source  of  pride  and  self-esteem  before 
all  other  peoples.  The  public  found  a  thousand  different  outlets  for 
the  deep-felt  protests  of  its  exasperation;  but  notwithstanding,  the 
unlimited  powers  of  despotism  preceded  with  their  dark  machina 
tions,  and  iron  fingers  throttled  the  indignation  of  the  most  clamor 
ous  people  on  earth  into  sudden  silence.  This  one  act  of  favouritism 
on  the  part  of  the  King  towards  his  beloved  Signor  Barbaja  earned 
him  a  greater  measure  of  unpopularity  than  the  accumulated  insults 
and  arbitrary  injustices  of  an  entire  reign,  heaped  without  restraint 
by  the  scornful  hand  of  tyranny  upon  a  race  which  will  need  to  live 
and  struggle  for  another  century  at  least,  before  it  grows  fit  to  assume 
the  vast  responsibilities  of  freedom. 

In  the  year  1 820,  one  thing  alone  would  have  made  the  Neapolitans 
happy:  not  the  gift  of  a  Spanish  constitution,  but  the  elimination  of 
Signorina  Colbran! 

Rossini  himself  took  the  greatest  care  not  to  meddle  in  Barbaja' s 
intrigues;  moreover,  the  Neapolitans  very  soon  realized  that  no  man 
in  Italy  could  have  been  less  tempted  by  his  natural  inclinations  to 
involve  himself  in  machinations  of  this  character,  nor  more  deficient 
in  the  powers  of  concentration  and  foresight  which  they  require. 
Nevertheless,  since  Rossini  had  come  to  Naples  under  contract  to 
Signor  Barbaja,  and  since,  on  top  of  this,  he  was  known  to  be  in  love 
with  la  Colbran,  it  was  almost  inevitable  that  the  people  of  Naples 
should  occasionally  make  him  suffer  in  revenge  for  the  humiliations 
heaped  upon  them.  Thus  it  came  about  that  his  Neapolitan  audi 
ences,  who  were  always  the  first  to  be  swept  off  their  feet  by  his 
genius,  were  at  the  same  time  always  the  first  to  insult  him  with  their 
disapproval  He  on  the  other  hand,  no  longer  able  to  rely  upon  la 
Colbran's  voice,  plunged  deeper  and  deeper  into  German-style 
harmony,  and,  more  especially,  retreated  ever  further  from  the  true 
art  of  dramatic  expression.  Moreover,  Signorina  Colbran  used  to 
plague  him  incessantly  to  decorate  his  arias  with  the  type  of  embel 
lishment  to  which  her  voice  was  accustomed. 

One  can  now  understand  by  what  fatal  chain  of  circumstances  it 
came  about,  that  poor  Rossini  sometimes  seems  to  exude  a  faint 
aroma  of  pedantry.  He  is  a  great  poet— a  great  comic  poet— forced 


NEAPOLITAN  PERIOD  167 

against  his  will  and  judgment  into  the  paths  of  erudition,  and 
obliged  to  display  this  erudition  over  sombre  and  serious  matters. 
Imagine  a  Voltaire  who,  to  earn  a  living,  was  compelled  to  write  a 
History  of  the  Jews  in  the  style  and  manner  of  Bossuet! 

Yet,  even  if  Rossini  has  sometimes  plunged  into  the  depths  of 
Teutonism,  his  Teutonism  somehow  contrives  to  remain  genial  and 
sparkling  with  life*.1 

After  the  production  of  Elisabetta,  Rossini  made  a  hasty  journey 
to  Rome,  where,  in  the  same  Carnival  season  (1816),  he  composed 
Torvaldo  e  Dorliska  and  il  Barbiere;  after  which,  he  came  back  to 
Naples,  and  produced  la  Gazzetta,  an  insignificant  little  opera  buffa, 
which  succeeded  only  moderately,  and  immediately  afterwards, 
Otello,  at  the  teatro  delFondo.  After  Otello,  he  returned  to  Rome  for 
la  Cenerentola,  and  squeezed  in  an  extra  journey  to  Milan  for  la 
Gazza  ladra.  Finally,  he  returned  once  more  to  Naples,  and  there, 
almost  before  he  had  had  time  to  settle,  produced  Armida. 

In  spite  of  the  superb  duet  which  it  contains,  Armida  was  a  com 
parative  failure,  since,  at  the  premiere,  the  audience  chose  to  take 
their  revenge  upon  the  composer  for  the  vocal  shortcomings  of 
Signorina  Colbran.  Acutely  disturbed  by  the  coldness  of  Ms  recep 
tion,  Rossini  determined  to  work  out  a  formula  for  success  which 
should  leave  him  independent  of  the  handicap  of  Signorina  Colbran's 
voice;  and  so,  following  the  example  already  set  by  the  German 
school,  he  proceeded  to  exploit  ever  more  fully  the  resources  of  his 
orchestra,  gradually  transforming  accessory  into  principle.  The  fail 
ure  of  Armida  was  splendidly  redeemed  by  the  triumph  of  Mose  in 
Egitto,  which  enjoyed  a  prodigious  success.  But  from  this  point 
onwards,  Rossini's  artistic  vision  tends  to  grow  progressively  more 
distorted.  He  had  already  written  twenty  operas,  and  it  was  no  longer 
any  too  easy  to  invent  a  really  original  cantilena;  but  he  could — and 
still  can — produce  light  and  witty  harmonic  patterns  without  so 
much  as  an  instant's  thought.  And  so  laziness  became  the  accessory 
of  necessity;  and  between  them,  they  conspired  to  drive  him  out  into 

1  I  offer  my  apologies  to  the  German  people  for  having  referred  so  disrespect 
fully  to  their  opera;  my  only  excuse  is  my  sincerity.  In  all  other  respects,  the 
esteem  which  I  profess  for  the  race  which  could  produce  a  Martin  Luther  is  beyond 
doubt  or  question.  Moreover,  Germans  may  take  consolation  from  the  fact  that 
I  am  none  too  generous  towards  the  music  of  my  own  country,  even  at  the  risk  of 
appearing  unpatriotic. 


168  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

the  harsh  wilderness  of  Germanic  music.  Mose  in  Egitto  was  followed 
immediately  by  Ricciardo  eZoraide,  Ermione,  la  Donna  delLago  and 
Maometto  II.  Every  one  of  these  operas  received  a  triumphant 
ovation,  with  the  solitary  exception  of  Ermione,  which  was  an  experi 
ment,  Rossini  having  decided  to  imitate  the  declamatory  style* 
which  Gluck  had  popularized  in  France.  But  music  which  has  no 
immediate  sensual  appeal  to  the  ear  is  doomed  to  half-hearted 
appreciation  among  the  Neapolitans.  Besides,  in  Ermione,  the 
dramatis  personae  spent  every  instant  they  were  given  on  the  stage  in 
losing  their  tempers  with  each  other,  with  the  result  that  the  entire 
opera  was  fixed  in  one  obstinate  mood  of  anger,  which  in  the  end 
proved  very  monotonous.  Anger,  as  thematic  material  for  music,  is 
valid  only  as  a  contrast  to  something  else.  There  is  an  axiom  current 
among  the  dilettanti  of  Naples,  to  the  effect  that,  in  opera,  the  raging 
outbursts  of  some  bad-tempered  Tutor  should  always  be  used  to  set 
off  the  tender  aria  of  the  pretty  young  ward ! 

In  the  last  group  of  operas  referred  to  above,  Rossini  had  an  addi 
tional  resource  to  draw  upon  in  the  superb  contralto  of  Signorina 
Pisaroni,  who  was  incontestably  a  performer  of  the  very  highest 
quality. 

The  male  voices  which  he  had  at  his  disposal  during  this  period 
were  those  of  Garcia,  the  younger  Davide  and  Nozzari,  all  three 
being  tenors.  Davide  is  still  the  finest  tenor  of  his  whole  generation; 
his  technical  ability  is  merely  the  foundation  of  something  like  true 
genius,  which  gives  him  a  quite  incredible  fertility  in  the  art  of 
improvisation,  but  which  sometimes  leads  him  badly  astray.  Garcia 
is  remarkable  for  the  astonishingly  assured  quality  of  his  singing; 
Nozzari,  finally,  in  spite  of  having  been  endowed  by  nature  with  the 
least  perfect  voice  of  the  three,  has  nevertheless  proved  to  be  one  of 
the  finest  singers  in  Europe. 


CHAPTER  XV 
Torvaldo  e  Dorliska 

?TER  the  brilliant  success  of  his  Elisabetta,  Rossini  was  invited 
to  spend  the  Carnival  season  of  the  year  1816  in  Rome,  where  he 
wrote  two  works:  for  the  teatro  della  Valle,  a  poorish  opera  semi- 
seria  entitled  Torvaldo  e  Dorliska;  and  for  the  teatro  Argentina,  his 
masterpiece,  ilBarbiere  diSiviglia.  The  former  of  these  two,  Torvaldo, 
was  composed  expressly  for  Galli  and  Remorini,  the  two  most 
renowned  bassi  in  Italy  at  that  time  (1816),  when  Lablache  and 
Zuchelli  were  still  almost  unknown.  His  tenor  was  Domenico 
Donzelli,  then  at  the  height  of  his  powers,  and  especially  remarkable 
for  the  fire  which  he  could  instil  into  his  singing. 

There  is  one  passionate  outburst  in  Dorliska's  great  aria 

Ah!  Torvaldo! 
Dove  sei!1 

which,  if  it  is  sung  with  a  more  than  ordinary  degree  of  zest  and 
attack,  invariably  creates  a  very  remarkable  impression.  But  the 
remainder  of  this  aria,  together  with  a  trio  between  the  tyrant,  the 
lover,  and  a  farcical  porter, 

Ah!  qual  raggio  di  speranzal* 

or,  one  might  rather  say,  together  with  the  opera  as  a  whole,  while  it 
would  make  the  reputation  of  any  normal  composer,  adds  nothing 
whatsoever  to  that  of  Rossini*.  One  might  perhaps  compare  it  with 
some  bad  novel  by  Walter  Scott,  the  only  figure  whose  European 
reputation  is  as  vast  and  as  undisputed  as  that  of  il  Pesarese.  To  be 
sure,  if  some  unknown  were  to  have  written  the  Pirate  or  the  Abbot, 
this  feat  alone  would  have  set  him  high  above  the  common  level  of 
ordinary  scribblers.  But  the  feature  which  distinguishes  the  real 
master  is  the  sweeping  audacity  of  his  design,  the  brave  impatience 
revealed  in  his  contempt  for  niggling  detail,  the  grandiose  touches 
1  Ah,  Torvaldo!  Where  are  you?  2  Ah!  What  a  ray  of  hope! 

LR  G 


170  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

which  characterize  his  creative  vision;  he  knows  how  to  husband  his 
reader's  attention,  shielding  it  lovingly  against  the  danger  of  vain 
distractions,  only  to  hurl  it  with  greater  impetus  upon  the  traces  of 
what  is  really  essential.  Walter  Scott  will  cheerfully  use  the  same 
word  three  times  running  in  a  single  sentence,  just  as  unscrupulously 
as  Rossini  will  give  the  same  passage  in  three  separate  repeats,  once 
on  the  clarinets,  once  on  the  violins  and  once  on  the  oboes. 

The  merest  sketch  by  Correggio,  in  my  own  personal  opinion,  is 
preferable  to  the  most  laborious,  the  most  detailed  painting  by 
Charles  Lebrun  or  by  such  another  of  our  "grand-manner"  painters! 

Torvaldo  e  Dorliska,  which,  to  judge  by  the  unmitigated  idiocy  of 
the  libretto  (whose  style,  apparently,  is  intended  to  achieve  sublime 
eloquence?)  and  by  the  total  dearth  of  originality  and  individuality  in 
the  characterization,  suggests  a  translation  of  some  Boulevard  melo 
drama,  none  the  less  contains  one  superb  agitato  passage,  sung  by 
the  tyrant,  and  based  on  one  of  the  finest  melodies  which  a  true 
basso  could  wish  for;  consequently  Galli  and  Lablache  rarely  omit  it 
from  their  respective  concert  repertoires.  To  console  the  reader  who 
may  never  have  heard  it,  I  would  add  that  this  aria  is  nothing  other 
than  an  earlier  version  of  the  famous  Letter-Duet  in  the  second  act  of 
Otello: 

Non  rrfinganno,  almio  rivale  ....x 

1  I  do  not  deceive  myself,  to  my  rival ... 


w, 


CHAPTER  XVI 
//  Barbiere  di  Siviglia* 


HEN  Rossini  arrived  in  Rome,  he  found  the  impresario  of  the 
teatro  Argentina  desperately  pestered  by  the  police,  who  were 
relentlessly  censuring  every  libretto  which  he  thought  of  using  on  the 
grounds  that  it  contained  "allusions".  Of  course,  if  you  are  dealing 
with  a  race  which  is  at  once  dissatisfied  and  witty,  everything  soon 
becomes  an  "allusion".1  In  a  fit  of  exasperation,  the  impresario 
suggested  to  the  Governor  of  Rome  that  he  might  be  allowed  to  use 
the  Barber  of  Seville,  a  pretty  little  libretto,  which,  unfortunately,  had 
already  been  used  by  Paesiello.  The  Governor,  who  happened  on  that 
particular  day  to  be  bored  to  tears  with  the  very  mention  of  morals 
and  decency,  agreed.  His  consent,  however,  plunged  Rossini  into  the 
most  disturbingly  embarrassing  position,  for  he  was  far  too  intelli 
gent  not  to  be  genuinely  modest  when  confronted  by  real  merit.  He 
wrote  off  hastily  to  Paesiello,  who  was  then  living  in  Naples;  and  the 
ageing  maestro,  who  was  not  entirely  devoid  of  a  somewhat  spiteful 
humour,  and  who,  besides,  was  mortally  jealous  of  the  success  of 
Elisabetta,  wrote  him,  a  most  polite  reply,  expressing  his  sincere 
approval  of  the  aesthetic  taste  exhibited  by  the  Papal  police.  There 
can  be  no  doubt  but  that  Paesiello  was  counting  upon  a  resounding 
and  catastrophic  flop* ! 

Rossini  wrote  an  extremely  modest  little  note  of  explanation  to  be 
prefaced  to  the  libretto,  exhibited  Paesiello's  letter  to  all  the  dilettanti 
in  Rome,  and  settled  down  to  work.  In  thirteen  days*,  the  music  of 

1  When  the  police  declare  war  on  ideologies,  the  inevitable  outcome  is  a  kind 
of  burlesque  melodrama.  In  this  very  year,  1823,  Talma  has  been  refused  per 
mission  to  perform  Tibere,  a  tragedy  by  Ch6nier  (who  died  ten  years  ago!),  "for 
fear  of  allusions".  Allusions  to  whom,  may  one  enquire?  (particularly  on  the  part 
of  a  poet  who  died  in  1812,  and  who  abominated  Napoleon!) 

Just  recently,  in  Vienna,  Caraffa's  charming  opera  Abufar  was  "suspended", 
for  fear  lest  it  "incite  the  population  to  illicit  love".  But,  to  begin  with,  there  is  no 
"illicit  love"  in  the  plot,  since  Farhan  is  not  Salema's  brother;  and  further,  would 
to  God  that  nothing  worse  than  emotion  could  corrupt  the  ligiit  ladies  of  Vienna! 
I  sadly  fear,  however,  that  it  is  not  love  which  is  such  a  menace  to  their  virtue,  but 
the  temptation  of  shawls  and  such  other  tangible  inducements! 


172  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

the  Barber  was  ready.  Rossini  had  imagined  himself  to  be  writing  for 
a  Roman  audience;  but  it  turned  out  in  the  end  that  what  he  had 
created  was  to  be  the  greatest  masterpiece  of  French  music*,  if  by  this 
term  one  may  understand  music  which  reflects  the  character  of  the 
people  of  France  as  they  are  to-day,  and  which  is  so  conceived  as  to 
afford  them  the  greatest  pleasure  imaginable,  in  so  far  as  the  general 
characteristics  of  the  race  as  a  whole  have  not  been  altered  out  of  all 
recognition  by  a  generation  of  civil  war. 

The  artists  whom  Rossini  had  at  his  disposal  were  Madame 
Giorgi*  for  the  part  of  Rosina,  and  Garcia  for  that  of  Almaviva; 
while  Zamboni  was  to  play  Figaro,  and  Boticelli  was  to  be  the  first 
Dr  Bartolo.  The  premiere  took  place  at  the  teatro  Argentina  on  the 
26th  of  December  1816*,  which  is  in  fact  the  day  when  the  stagione 
of  the  Carnival  begins  in  Italy. 

The  Roman  audience  found  the  opening  scenes  of  the  opera  bor 
ing,  and  greatly  inferior  to  Paesiello's  version.  They  were  dis 
appointed  not  to  find  the  naive  and  inimitable  graces  of  that  com 
poser,  nor  his  style,  which  is  a  miracle  of  simplicity.  Rosina's  aria: 

Sono  docile  ... x 

struck  the  listeners  at  first  as  being  out  of  character,  and  the  young 
maestro  was  accused  of  having  transformed  an  ingenue  into  a  virago. 
The  opera  to  some  extent  recovered  from  this  disastrous  beginning 
with  the  duet  between  Rosina  and  Figaro,  which,  with  all  its  exquisite 
lightness  of  touch,  is  a  triumphant  display  of  Rossini's  style  at  its 
best;  and  the  aria  of  la  Calunnia  was  averred  to  be  both  magnificent 
and  original  (in  1816,  Rome  had  not  yet  learned  to  appreciate 
Mozart). 

But  after  don  Basilio's  great  aria,  the  absence  of  the  naive  and 
somewhat  excessive  graces  which  had  become  associated  with  the 
opera  through  Paesiello  bred  a  rapidly-mounting  sense  of  dis 
appointment,  until,  finally  exasperated  by  the  trivia  at  the  beginning 
of  Act  II,  and  deeply  offended  by  the  lack  of  dramatic  expression,  the 
audience  forced  the  management  to  bring  down  the  curtain.  By  this 
gesture,  the  Roman  public,  which  is  so  inordinately  proud  of  its 
musical  connoisseurship,  committed  an  act  of  intolerance  which,  as 
so  often  happens,  turned  out  later  to  be  (as  well)  an  act  of  singular 
1  I  am  obedient ... 


IL  BARBIERE  DI  SIVIGLIA  173 

stupidity.  For,  on  the  following  evening,  at  the  very  next  perform 
ance,  the  Barber  achieved  a  resounding  triumph;  the  audience  this 
time  being  pleased  to  observe  that,  if  Rossini  was  deficient  in  some  of 
the  virtues  of  Paesiello,  he  was  also  completely  deficient  in  the  dull- 
ness  which  too  often  afflicts  the  latter's  style — a  perilous  defect, 
which  comes  near  to  ruining  many  of  the  works,  both  of  Paesiello 
and  of  Guido  Reni,  who,  in  their  different  media,  share  many  charac 
teristics  in  common.  During  the  twenty  or  thirty  years  which  had 
passed  since  the  hey-day  of  the  older  maestro,  Roman  audiences  had 
to  some  extent  forsaken  the  habit  of  using  the  opera-house  as  a  kind 
of  club  and  general  centre  for  conversation;  consequently,  it  sud 
denly  dawned  upon  them  that  the  everlasting  recitatives  which,  in 
the  average  opera  composed  around  1780,  stand  like  barriers  separ 
ating  the  purely  musical  passages  from  each  other,  were  singularly 
tedious.  It  was  as  though  our  own  race  of  playgoers,  some  thirty  years 
hence,  might  suddenly  find  itself  flatly  unable  to  understand  the  pur 
pose  of  those  eternally-dragging  intervals  which  customarily  divide 
up  the  acts  of  a  tragedy  in  any  modern  performance,  for  the  simple 
reason  that,  in  due  course,  somebody  is  bound  to  devise  a  means  of 
keeping  the  audience  entertained  during  these  periods,  whether  it  be 
with  organ-music  (on  two  or  three  different  keyboards,  either  in 
concert,  or  in  dialogue),  or  else  with  demonstrations  and  scientific 
experiments  in  physics,  or  else  simply  with  a  little  mild  gambling.  To 
whatever  degree  of  perfection  we  may  have  brought  the  arts  in 
general,  we  must  be  resigned  to  the  fact  that  our  heirs  and  successors 
will  certainly  have  the  impertinence  to  invent  something  of  their  own! 
The  overture  to  the  Barber  caused  great  amusement  in  Rome;  the 
audience  heard — or  rather,  imagined  that  it  heard — a  musical  dia 
logue  compounded  of  all  the  threats  and  bluster  of  the  elderly, 
jealous  and  enamoured  guardian,  and  all  the  plaintive  sighs  of  his 
pretty  ward.  The  miniature  trio : 

Piano, pianissimo  ...,** 

of  the  second  act  became  phenomenally  popular.  "But,"  remon 
strated  the  party  hostile  to  Rossini,  "it  is  indeed  miniature  music; 
granted  that  it  is  pleasant  and  tinkling — but  it  doesn't  express 
anything.  Rosina  discovers  that  her  Almaviva  is  faithful  and  loving, 
1  Softly,  very  softly  ... 


174  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

instead  of  the  scoundrel  whom  she  had  had  portrayed  to  her,  and 
what  happens?  She  knows  no  better  way  of  expressing  her  thrilled 
astonishment  and  delight  than  through  a  set  of  silly  little  roulades: 

Di  sorpresa,  di  contento 
Son  vicina  a  delirar  . . . x 

Yet  the  fact  is,  that  these  same  roulades,  which  seem  so  curiously  mis 
placed  in  such  a  context,  and  which  all  but  killed  the  opera  in  Rome, 
even  at  the  second  performance,  have  become  desperately  popular  in 
Paris;  Paris,  as  usual,  prefers  pretty  compliments  to  true  love. 
Incidentally,  the  Barber,  with  its  easy  and  attractive  music,  and  in 
particular,  with  its  plain,  accessible  libretto,  marks  the  turning-point 
in  the  conversion  of  many  people  to  Rossini's  operatic  style.  It  was 
first  performed  in  Paris  on  the  23rd  of  September  1819;  but  the 
routing  of  the  pedants,  who  had  rallied  round  Paesiello  as  round  one 
who  possessed  the  genuine  authority  of  an  ancient*,  dates  only  from 
January  1820.2  I  have  no  doubt  that  there  will  always  be  some 
sophisticated  persons  to  reproach  me  with  wasting  time  over  the 
repetition  of  useless  platitudes;  but  I  must  beg  them  to  re-read  some 
of  the  newspapers  of  that  time  (and  even  some  of  to-day's,  for  all  that 
public  taste  and  musical  discernment  have  made  tremendous  advances 
during  the  last  four  years) ;  I  can  promise  that  they  will  unearth  more 
than  one  palpable  absurdity! 

The  whole  art  of  operatic  music,  in  fact,  has  likewise  made  im 
mense  progress  since  Paesiello's  day;  it  has  rid  the  stage  of  the  in 
tolerable,  interminable  recitatives  which  burdened  the  style  of  the 
earlier  epoch;  and  it  has  learned  the  essential  secret  of  mastering  the 
ensemble.  "It  is  absurd,"  maintain  certain  poor,  passionless,  blunt- 
minded  creatures,  "for  five  or  six  people  to  sing  all  at  once".  Agreed. 
It  is  supremely  absurd  for  even  two  people  to  sing  at  once;  for  when 
does  it  ever  occur  that  two  people,  even  supposing  them  to  be  domin 
ated  by  the  most  violent  of  passions,  should  go  on  speaking  simul 
taneously  for  any  length  of  time?  Rather  the  opposite,  if  anything; 
the  more  extreme  the  passion,  the  greater  the  attention  we  should 
normally  pay  to  the  protests  of  that  antagonist,  whose  conversion  to 
our  own  point  of  view  appears  to  be  a  matter  of  such  dire  conse- 

1  I'm  almost  delirious  with  astonishment  and  joy  ... 

2  Vide:  la  Renommte,  a  "liberal1*  journal  of  the  period. 


IL  BARBIERE  DI  SIVIGLIA  175 

quence.  This  observation  holds  good,  for  instance,  even  of  the  poor 
Indian  savages,1  or  of  the  heathen  Turks;  yet  nothing  is  further  from 
their  minds  than  any  longing  to  be  thought  intelligent  or  sophisti 
cated.  Is  not  this  an  admirably  logical  argument?  Could  anything  be 
more  reasonable?  And  yet  experience  proves  it  false  from  top  to 
bottom.  In  practice,  there  is  nothing  more  delightful  than  a  duet. 
Therefore,  O  poor  but  well-meaning  literary  critics,  you  who  are  so 
busy  applying  your  invincible  critical  dialectic  to  arts  in  respect  of 
which  you  are  all  as  blind  as  bats,  run  away  and  write  us  a  thesis  or 
two  to  prove  that  Cicero  is  a  riot  of  innocent  merriment,  or  else  to 
demonstrate  that  M.  Scoppa  has  eventually  discovered  the  only  true 
rhythm  of  the  French  language,  and  learned  the  ultimate  secrets  of 
the  art  of  writing  poetry! 

It  is  precisely  the  mounting  excitement,  the  crescendo.,  of  these 
ensembles,  which  dissipates  the  boredom  of  those  poor,  unfortunate, 
right-thinking  people,  whom  fashion,  pitiless  and  implacable  as  ever, 
has  hounded  into  the  Theatre  Louvois,*  and  prods  them  into  some 
semblance  of  wakefulness. 

Rossini,  who  was  full  well  aware  that,  in  writing  the  Barber,  he 
was  deliberately  challenging  one  of  the  most  noble  figures  in  the 
whole  history  of  music,  had  the  good  sense  (whether  by  luck  or  by 
sound  reasoning)  to  be  pre-eminently  himself. 

Should  we  ever  feel  ourselves  beset  by  the  urge — which  might  or 
might  not,  ultimately,  contribute  to  our  deeper  appreciation — to  pry 
rather  more  curiously  into  the  intimacies  of  Rossini's  style,  the 
Barber  is  the  place  where  we  should  seek.  In  this  opera,  one  of  the 
most  notable  characteristics  of  his  style  stands  revealed  with  merci 
less  clarity;  for  Rossini,  who  is  so  completely  the  master  of  the 
finale,  the  ensemble  and  the  duet,  becomes  merely  insipid  and  pretty- 
pretty  in  those  arias  which  seek  to  combine  passion  with  simplicity. 
II  canto  spianato—hQTQ  we  have  the  real  stumbling-block! 

The  Roman  audiences  used  to  maintain  that,  if  Cimarosa  had 

1  Vide:  Mceurs  et  Coutumes  des  Nations  Indiennes,  translated  from  the  English 
original  (by  John  Heckewelder)  into  French  by  M.  du  Poncet 

2  The  German,  who  lives  by  theories,  treats  music  as  material  for  erudition;  the 
sensual  Italian  turns  to  it  in  search  of  pleasure,  violent  but  yet  ephemeral;  the 
Frenchman,  ever  vain  rather  than  impressionable,  may  on  occasions  succeed  in 
exploiting  it  as  a  subject  of  witty  conversation;  whereas  the  Englishman  simply  pays 
his  money  down,  and  takes  good  care  to  have  nothing  further  to  do  with  it!  (from 
Raison,  Folie,  vol.  I,  p.  230). 


176  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

composed  the  music  of  the  Barber,  it  might  have  suffered  slightly  in 
brilliance  and  verve,  but  it  would  have  stood  to  gain  most  decidedly 
in  comic  atmosphere,  and  even  more  markedly  in  dramatic  expres 
sion.  And  yet  ...  suppose  you  had  enlisted  with  the  colours,  and 
trekked  half-way  about  the  world;  and  then,  one  strange  and  un 
expected  day,  had  come  back  at  last  to  the  little  German  spa  of 
Baden.  And  there,  as  fate  decrees,  suppose  that  you  were  suddenly  to 
rediscover  a  charming,  long-lost  mistress,  whom,  a  year  or  two 
earlier,  in  Dresden  perhaps,  or  maybe  in  Bayreuth,  you  had  adored 
with  undying  passion.  Imagine  the  first  instant  of  that  reunion — its 
tender  joys,  its  inexpressible  delight!  But  the  days  go  by;  and  three 
days,  four  days  later,  there  seems  to  steal  upon  you  a  surfeit  of  kisses 
and  caresses,  a  strange  satiety  of  bliss.  The  unbounded  adoration  and 
devotion,  the  very  sweetness  and  charm  of  this  delightful  German 
lady  seem  to  1511  you  with  a  vague  and  languorous  regret,  which  you 
may  hesitate  to  acknowledge  even  to  yourself— regret  for  the  excite 
ment  of  a  creature  from  the  South,  for  the  whims  and  caprices,  the 
tempestuous  disdains  and  unpredictable  humours  of  a  woman  whose 
veins  are  burning  with  the  sun  of  Italy.  This,  precisely,  is  the  reaction 
which  I  myself  have  recently  experienced,  listening  to  the  admirable 
music  of  tt  Matrimonio  segreto,  when  it  was  revived  the  other  day  in 
Paris,  for  the  benefit  of  Mademoiselle  de  Meri.  Rossini,  as  I  left  the 
theatre  after  the  first  night  of  the  revival,  had  shrunk  in  my  imagina 
tion  to  the  dimensions  of  a  pygmy.  Yet  I  remember  saying  to  myself 
at  the  time:  I  must  not  judge  too  hastily;  I  must  not  formulate  any 
rash  and  sweeping  verdicts,  for  I  am  still  under  the  spell.  Yesterday 
(19th  August  1823),  as  I  came  away  from  the  fourth  performance  of 
il  Matrimonio,  I  found  myself  staring  hard  at  the  immense  obelisk 
which  stands  outside  the  theatre — and  that  obelisk  had  grown  into 
the  symbol  of  Rossini's  glory  and  musical  stature.  The  feature  which 
makes  the  second  act  of  Cimarosa's  opera  almost  unbearably  insipid 
to  our  ears  is  its  lack  of  dissonance.  There  is  despair,  there  is  tragedy 
—but  they  are  vignettes,  insipid  as  icing-sugar.  We  have  learned  a 
great  deal  about  tragedy  since  1793.1  The  great  quartet  from  Act  I, 
for  instance, 

1  //  Matrimonio  segreto  was  first  performed  in  Vienna  in  1793.  The  Emperor 
Joseph  was  so  impressed  that  he  commanded  a  second  (private)  performance  the 
very  same  evening. 


IL  BARBIERE  DI  SIVIGLIA  177 

Che  triste  silenzio!1 

seems  merely  wearisome;  in  a  word,  Cimarosa  is  more  prolific  in 
musical  ideas  than  Rossini,  and  Ms  ideas  are  better,  more  original 
and  imaginative;  but  Rossini  is  the  greater  stylist. 

In  the  realm  of  love,  it  is  the  thrilling,  unpredictable  temperament 
of  Italy  and  the  South  whose  absence  dulls  the  delight  of  soft  German 
caresses;  in  the  theatre  of  music,  by  some  contrary  freak  of  fortune, 
it  is  the  thrilling  dissonance  of  German  enharmonic  modulation 
whose  absence  dulls  the  sweet,  caressing  graces  of  Italian  melody. 
Think  for  an  instant  of  the  passage : 

Timaledico  ...2 

from  the  second  act  of  Otello;  and  then  recall  il  Matrimonio  segreto, 
and  in  particular  the  scene  where  old  Geronimo,  the  merchant,  his 
head  stuffed  with  wild  dreams  of  some  aristocratic  alliance,  discovers 
that  his  daughter  Carolina  has  secretly  married  a  clerk.  The  great 
defect  of  Cimarosa's  music  in  this  passage,  I  feel,  is  the  lack  of  some 
hint  of  harshness,  the  absence  of  Rossini's  stirring  discords. 

Like  the  Astrologer  in  La  Fontaine's  fable,  who  gazed  so  fixedly 
at  the  stars  that  he  fell  down  a  well,  I  am  constantly  in  danger  of 
falling  into  errors  of  fact;  and  knowing  this,  I  submitted  this  chapter 
to  a  certain  knowledgeable  dilettante  of  my  acquaintance,  so  that  he 
might  discover  and  correct  any  slips  which  might  have  crept  into  the 
text.  His  chief  comment,  however,  was  simply:  "Is  this  what  you  call 
giving  an  analysis  of  the  Barber!  I  can't  find  anything  here  but  froth 
and  padding,  like  whipped  cream  on  the  top  of  a  trifle.  What  do  you 
expect  me  to  be  able  to  get  hold  of,  in  all  this  maze  of  words?  Come, 
settle  down  to  work  properly,  open  the  score,  and  let  me  play  the 
principle  themes  for  you;  while  you,  Sir,  proceed  with  your  prom 
ised  analysis,  step  by  step,  in  dense  and  closely-reasoned  argument  I" 

ACT  ONE 

The  chorus  of  serenaders,  which  forms  the  introduction  to  the 
opera,  leaves  one  with  the  unmistakable  impression  that  one  is 
watching  Rossini  about  to  engage  in  single  combat  with  Paesiello ; 
1  What  dismal  silence!  2  I  curse  you! 


178  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

there  is  grace,  there  is  sweetness,  but  there  is  also  a  great  lack  of 
simplicity.  Count  Almaviva's  aria  is  platitudinous  and  empty* ;  his 
love  belongs  to  the  seventeen-seventies,  to  the  days  of  the  powdered 
galants  who  bowed  themselves  in  and  out  of  the  salons  of  Paris.  By 
contrast,  however,  everything  that  is  genuinely  Rossinian  bursts  out 
in  a  glorious  blaze  in  the  chorus : 

Mille  grazie,  mio  signore!1 

and  the  opening  liveliness  quickly  works  up  into  a  crescendo  of  real 
verve  and  brio — a  transmutation  which  Rossini  does  not  always 
succeed  in  bringing  off.  In  this  passage,  his  soul  seems  to  have  flared 
up  into  a  kind  of  brilliant  bonfire,  touched  off  by  the  sparks  of  his 
own  wit.  At  the  sound  of  Figaro's  approaching  footsteps,  the  Count 
retreats  into  the  distance,  remarking  as  he  goes  off: 

Gia  Falba  e  appena,  e  amor  non  si  vergogna2 

— a  comment  which  is  beautifully  and  typically  Italian!  All  things, 
claims  Aknaviva,  are  permitted  to  the  lover;  even  though  we,  the 
audience,  know  well  enough  that  love,  in  the  eyes  of  the  impartial 
observer,  may  seem  nothing  so  much  as  a  convenient  excuse  to  cover 
a  multitude  of  sins.  But  in  the  cold  North,  love  is  timid  and  hesitant, 
to  the  victims  and  to  the  indifferent  spectators  alike. 
Figaro's  cavatina: 

Largo  al factotum  ... 

(especially  as  it  was  sung  by  Pellegrini),  is,  and  will  remain  for  many 
a  day,  the  perfect  masterpiece  of  music  for  French  ears.  What  a 
fortune  of  wit,  fire  and  delicacy  in  the  passage: 

Per  un  barbiere  di  qualitti  ...7s 
what  a  wealth  of  expressiveness  in  the  phrase : 

Colla  donnetta  ... 
Col  cavalier  e  ...74 

In  Paris,  this  song  was  greeted  with  rapturous  applause,  when  it 
might  easily  have  met  with  vociferous  disapproval,  on  account  of  the 
somewhat  spicy  innuendoes  in  the  libretto.  I  am  not  aware  that 

1  A  thousand  thanks,  my  Lord! 

2  It  is  scarcely  dawn  yet,  and  love  knows  no  shame. 

8  For  a  barber  of  quality ...  4  With  the  lady  ...  with  the  gentleman  ... 


IL  BARBIERE  DI  SIVIGLIA  179 

Preville's  interpretation  of  the  part  of  Figaro  differed  essentially  from 
that  of  Pellegrini.  In  the  first  act,  this  inimitable  comedian  managed 
to  convey  all  the  gracefulness,  all  the  sleekness,  all  the  cautious  and 
mischievous  agility  of  a  kitten;  and  later,  in  the  scene  where  Figaro 
tricks  his  way  into  Bartolo's  house,  his  expression  alone  would  have 
tempted  a  judge  to  hang  him  on  the  spot.  I  would  dearly  love  to  see 
the  part  performed  on  the  straight  stage  of  the  Theatre  Frangais  as 
well  as  it  was  played  by  Pellegrini.  It  is  one  of  the  pet  maxims  of  our 
highly-respected  literary  critics,  that  the  members  of  any  operatic 
company  performing  at  the  Louvois  should  be  written  off  as  a  set  of 
provincial  clowns,  utterly  incapable  of  the  most  elementary  notions 
of  dramatic  verisimilitude  or  expression,  and  from  whom,  logically, 
it  would  be  sheer  impertinence  to  expect  anything  of  interest  or 
permanent  value.  Only  yesterday,  I  heard  someone  expounding  this 
theory.  A  supercilious  gentleman  with  his  hair  trimmed  a  Vancienne, 
was  explaining  it  all  most  meticulously  to  a  couple  of  wretched 
young  ladies,  who  were  all  nods  and  dutiful  agreement — and  that, 
actually  inside  the  theatre  which  had  just  witnessed  Act  II  of  la  Gazza 
ladra  acted  by  Galli,  not  to  mention  Madame  Pasta  as  Romeo, 
Desdemona,  Medea  and  in  countless  other  parts. 

Should  we  not  ourselves  begin  to  look  as  absurd  as  our  own 
worthy  pedants,  if  we  undertook  to  argue  with  them?  True  pathos,  it 
is  asserted,  dwells  nowhere  save  on  the  boards  of  the  Theatre 
Fran ^afs;  therefore,  I  beg  you,  go  there  and  watch  a  performance  of 
Iphigenie  en  Aulide,  from  which,  I  suppose,  you  will  learn  to  discover 
all  the  gems  of  that  abominable  ranting  tradition,  which  in  fact  wants 
nothing  but  an  obbligato  on  the  double-bass  to  transmute  it  into  a  bit 
of  fourth-rate  Gluck!* 

The  plot  of  the  balcony-scene  in  the  Barber  is  ideal,  as  far  as  opera 
is  concerned;  and  the  dialogue  is  unrivalled  in  its  graceful  simplicity 
and  tenderness.  But  Rossini  hurries  over  it  in  his  urgent  haste  to 
arrive  at  the  magnificent  buffo  duet  which  follows : 

Air  idea  di  quelmetallo  ...-1 

The  opening  bars  give  us  an  impeccable  character-sketch  of  Figaro's 
belief  in  the  irresistible  powers  of  gold;  on  the  other  hand,  the 
Count's  exhortation, 

1  At  the  very  notion  of  that  mQtal  (gold) .., 


180  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

Su,  vediam  di  quel  metallo  ...1 

is  beautifully  and  realistically  evocative  of  the  young  aristocrat  who 
is  not  so  preoccupied  by  love  that  he  cannot  derive  some  passing 
amusement  from  Figaro,  and  from  the  greed  of  the  lower  orders  in 
general  at  the  sight  of  gold. 

I  have  commented  elsewhere  upon  the  admirable  rapidity  of  the 
dialogue: 

Oggi  arriva  un  reggimento  . . . 

— Si,  e  mio  amico  il  colonello* 

This  passage  seems  to  me  to  be,  of  its  kind,  the  best  thing  that 
Rossini  has  ever  done,  and  consequently  the  best  thing  that  has  ever 
been  done  in  the  entire  history  of  music.  However,  there  is  an  un 
fortunate  hint  of  vulgarity  in 

Che  invenzione  prelibata!* 

but,  by  contrast,  the  following  passage  from  the  Count's  drunken- 
scene  is  a  model  of  true  comic  dialogue: 

Perche  d'un  che  non  £  in  se, 
Che  dal  vino  casca  giu, 
II  tutor.,  credete  a  me, 
II  tutor  Bifidem** 

I  have  always  particularly  admired  the  quality  of  assuredness  in 
Garcia's  singing  when  he  reaches  the  passage: 

Vado  ...  ma  ilmeglio  mi  scordavo  ...,5 

which  necessitates  a  change  of  key  executed  far  upstage,  where  the 
orchestra  cannot  be  heard  properly — a  feat  of  the  greatest  technical 
difficulty. 
To  my  mind,  the  latter  part  of  this  duet,  from  the  words 

La  bottega?  non  si  sbaglia  ...6 

1  Come  on  then,  we'll  have  a  look  at  some  of  that  metal  ... 

2  To-day  a  regiment  is  arriving,  and  a  friend  of  mine  is  the  colonel  com 
manding  ... 

See  above,  p.  38.  (Trans.) 

3  What  a  delicious  invention! 

4  Because  I  shall  be  intoxicated  and  staggering  with  wine,  the  Tutor  (believe 
me !) . . .  the  Tutor  will  be  trusting . . . 

5  I  go  ...  but  I  was  forgetting  the  best  thing  of  all ... 

6  The  shop?  One  does  not  err  .,, 


IL  BARBIERE  Dl  SlVlGLlA  181 

to  the  end,  is  beyond  all  possible  praise.  This  is  the  duet  which  is 
fated  to  sound  the  death-knell  of  French  grand  opera;  and  surely  it 
must  be  agreed  that  never  did  a  weightier  antagonist  fall  prostrate 
before  a  lighter  assailant!  What  did  it  avail  that  the  great  Paris 
Opera  should  have  been  deafening  persons  of  taste  with  intolerable 
nonsense  for  a  solid  hundred-and-fifty  years— in  fact  ever  since  the 
days  of  La  Bruyere?  Yet  it  had  held  out  valiantly  against  the  reform 
ing  zeal  of  half  a  hundred  different  ministries!  Only  one  conspirator 
was  strong  enough  to  deal  it  a  final  death-blow,  and  that,  when  at  last 
it  did  appear  upon  the  scene,  was  a  true  school  of  music  destined  for 
the  ears  of  the  French  nation.  In  this  respect,  the  most  notable 
"assassins",  after  Rossini  himself,  have  been  MM.  Massimino, 
Choron  and  Castil-Blaze. 

It  would  not  surprise  me  in  the  least  if,  driven  to  desperation,  the 
partisans  of  our  grand  opera  should  manage  to  have  the  opera  buffa 
shut  down  altogether;  its  cause  is  already  partially  betrayed— witness 
the  scandalous  manner  in  which  Cimarosa's  gli  Orazii  e  Cunazil  has 
recently  been  revived! 

Rosina's  cavatina: 

Una  voce pocofa  ...1 

is  delicious;  she  herself  is  gay  and  lively,  but  rather  too  cock-sure. 
There  is  a  good  deal  of  unnecessary  self-assertiveness  in  the  song  of 
this  innocent  young  ward,  and  a  good  deal  too  little  love.  Possessed 
of  so  much  intrepidity,  how  can  she  fail  to  outwit  her  wretched 
guardian? 
The  paean  of  victory  to  the  words: 

Lindoro  mio  sara 


Una  vipera  sard2 

is  a  potential  triumph  for  a  really  fine  voice.  Madame  Fodor  sang  it 
so  exquisitely  as  to  be,  in  my  humble  opinion,  perfect.  Her  magni 
ficent  singing  sometimes  holds  a  note  of  harshness  (French  style!); 
but  a  little  harshness  is  not  wholly  out  of  place  in  the  utterances  of  so 
resolute  a  young  lady.  Although,  personally,  I  feel  that  such  a  tone 
is  a  calumny  against  nature,  nevertheless  it  furnishes  yet  another 

1  A  voice  a  little  while  ago  ... 

2  Lindoro  will  be  mine. ...  I  shall  be  a  viper  ... 


182  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

proof  of  the  infinite  distance  which  separates  the  yielding,  soft  and 
melancholy  love  of  those  Teutonic  beauties  whom  one  may  meet 
walking  in  the  ornamental  parks  beside  the  Elbe,  from  the  tempera 
mental  and  domineering  passions  which  burn  like  fire  in  maiden 
breasts  from  the  further  south  of  Italy.1 
The  celebrated  "calumny"  aria, 

La  calunnia  e  un  venticello  ...2 

inspires  me  with  the  same  reflections  as  the  famous  duet  from  the 
second  act  of  la  Cenerentola, 

Un  segreto  d'importanza  ...3 

I  have  already  made  bold  enough  to  suggest  that,  without  Cimarosa 
and  his  duet  for  two  bass  voices  in  il  Matrimonio  segreto,  we  should 
never  have  had  the  Cinderella  duet;  I  am  now  going  to  defy  the 
imputation  of  paradox  for  the  second  time.  The  aria  known  as  la 
Calunnia  seems  to  me  to  be  nothing  less  than  a  blatant  borrowing 
from  Mozart,  made  by  a  man  of  considerable  intelligence  who  is 
himself  a  competent  composer.  The  aria  itself  is  too  long  within  its 
particular  dramatic  context;  on  the  other  hand,  it  provides  an  admir 
able  contrast  to  the  frothiness  of  everything  immediately  preceding 
it — the  sort  of  contrast  which  is  missing,  for  instance,  in  il  Matri 
monio  segreto.  In  Milan,  at  la  Scala,  this  aria  was  beautifully  per 
formed  by  M.  Levasseur,  who  achieved  a  great  personal  triumph 
through  his  interpretation  of  it.  Unfortunately,  this  artist,  although 
French  by  birth,  and  the  star  pupil  of  the  Conservatoire,  failed 
lamentably  when  he  appeared  at  the  Theatre  Louvois ;  he  sings  without 
assurance,  and  in  consequence  the  only  impression  which  he  manages 
to  convey  across  the  footlights  is  a  sense  of  acute  anxiety  lest  he 
should  hit  the  wrong  note!  It  was  Voltaire  who  remarked  that 
success  in  any  of  the  arts,  but  above  all  in  the  theatre,  depends  upon 
,  owning  the  temperament  of  a  man  possessed. 

Messrs   Meyerbeer,   Morlacchi,   Paccini,   Mercadante,   Mosca, 
Mayer,  Spontini,  and  many  others  among  Rossini's  contemporaries, 

1  Cf.  the  sketch  of  the  various  love-affairs  of  la  Zitella  Borghese,  as  presented 
by  the  President  de  Brosses  in  his  Lettres  sur  V Italic  (vol.  II,  p.  250)  : 

Et  sequitur  leviter 
Filia  matris  tier. 

2  Calumny  is  a  little  breeze  ...  s  A  secret  of  importance  ... 


IL  BARBIERE  DI  SIVIGLIA  183 

would  doubtless  ask  nothing  better  than  to  be  able  to  imitate 
Mozart;  yet  not  one  of  them,  in  all  the  scores  which  Mozart  ever  left, 
has  managed  to  discover  an  aria  as  fine  as  la  Calunnia.  Without 
necessarily  claiming  to  set  Rossini  on  the  same  scale  of  genius  as 
Raphael,  I  might  mention  that  it  was  in  the  same  spirit  that  Raphael 
imitated  Michelangelo  in  the  magnificent  "Prophet  Isaiah"  fresco 
which  is  to  be  seen  in  the  church  of  Sant'  Agostino,  in  the  piazza 
Navona,  in  Rome. 

There  is  nothing  in  the  whole  score  of  il  Matrimonio  segreto  as 
powerful  (in  its  own  gloomy  style)  as 

E  il  meschino  calunniato  ...1 
In  the  duet: 

Dunque  io  son  ...  tu  non  nfinganni?2 

we  are  offered  the  portrait,  not  of  a  girl  of  eighteen,  but  rather  of 
some  good-looking  woman,  perhaps  twenty-six  years  of  age,  ardent 
in  temperament  and  more  than  a  little  inclined  to  flirtation,  debating 
with  a  confidant  upon  the  ways  and  means  to  grant  an  assignation  to 
a  man  who  has  caught  her  fancy.  I  refuse  to  believe  that,  even  in 
Rome,  the  love  of  such  a  creature  as  Rosina  should  be  so  utterly 
devoid  of  the  slightest  suggestion  of  melancholy,  or  even,  I  might 
dare  to  add,  of  certain  finer  shades  of  fastidiousness  and  hesitation* 
The  phrase: 

Lo  sapevo pria  dite  ...3 

musically  speaking  embodies  a  conception  which,  north  of  the  Alps, 
might  seem  out  of  character.  In  my  own  opinion,  Rossini  made  a 
decided  mistake  in  thus  allowing  a  chance  of  graceful  and  charming 
invention  to  slip  through  his  fingers;  even  the  most  passionate  of 
loves  cannot  thrive  without  a  touch  of  modesty,  and  to  strip  it  of  this 
essential  element  is  to  fall  into  the  vulgar  error,  common  to  sensual 
and  unrefined  persons  in  every  land,  of  thinking  all  women  alike.  I 
admit  that,  when  one  has  already  some  sixteen  operas  upon  one's 
conscience,  the  search  for  originality  may  tend  to  become  an  obses 
sion:  that  fine  old  man,  the  great  dramatist  Corneille,  confessed  to  a 
similar  obsession  in  his  Examen  de  Nicomede;  but  I  do  not  believe 

1  And  the  unfortunate  person  who  is  calumnied  ... 

2  Then  Fm  ...  ?  You're  not  deceiving  me? 

3  I  knew  it  before  you  did  ... 


184  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

that  this  is  the  true  explanation  of  the  curious  tastelessness  which 
Rossini  seems  to  have  exhibited  in  this  aria.  While  he  was  in  Rome, 
and  more  particularly,  while  he  was  actually  in  the  throes  of  compo 
sition,  working  on  the  scores  ofTorvaldo  and  ilBarbiere,  he  had  some 
curious  personal  experiences,  much  more  nearly  in  the  style  of 
Faublas  than  in  that  of  Petrarch.  Subconsciously,  and  in  direct  conse 
quence  of  that  abnormally  developed  impressionability  which  is 
characteristic  of  the  true  artist  in  any  medium,  the  women  he 
depicted  were  the  women  who  happened  to  be  attracted  to  him  at  the 
moment — women  to  whom,  perhaps,  he  himself  might  not  be  wholly 
indifferent.  Without  realizing  it  in  the  least,  the  arias  which  he  com 
posed  at  three  o'clock  in  the  morning  would  tend,  as  it  were,  to  be 
fashioned  to  the  taste  of  the  company  he  had  kept  during  the  rest  of 
the  evening,  and  to  echo  the  brazen  laughter  of  a  kind  of  women  in 
whose  opinion,  without  question,  modesty  and  fastidiousness  would 
have  appeared  as  ridiculous  as  the  crude  ignorance  di  un  collegiate. 
Some  of  Rossini's  most  incredible  and  flattering  successes  are 
directly  attributable  to  his  own  abnormal  coldness  and  indifference. 
The  Barber  itself,  together  with  several  of  the  operas  written  at  a 
later  date,  arouses  my  suspicions  by  its  very  popularity;  for  (dare  I 
suggest  it?)  Rossini  seems  to  owe  his  unparalleled  success  largely  to 
his  fundamental  inability  to  draw  any  fine  distinction  between  one 
woman  and  another.  I  am  half-afraid  that  his  personal  conquests 
among  certain  distinguished  ladies  of  Rome  may  have  stifled  in  his 
soul  the  last  spark  of  genuine  susceptibility,  the  ultimate  awareness  of 
true  feminine  grace.  In  the  Barber,  wherever  the  scene  requires  a  note 
of  natural  and  profound  emotion,  Rossini  offers  us  instead  preciosity, 
or  elegance,  with  never  a  hint  of  weakening  self-control;  his  lovers 
seem  to  speak  the  language  of  Fontenelle.  Such  mannerisms  are 
doubtless  invaluable  in  the  practical  context  of  real  life;  but  they 
contribute  nothing  to  the  glory  of  genius.  In  my  opinion,  there  is  far 
more  verve  and  passionate  unconstraint  in  Rossini's  earlier  works: 
compare  la  Pietra  del  Paragone,  Demetrio  e  Polibio  or  Aureliano  in 
Palmira  with  the  Barber.  I  diagnose  a  slight  attack  of  scepticism  in 
sentimental  matters — which,  for  a  young  man  of  four-and-twenty, 
represents  no  small  advance  along  the  hard  road  to  philosophy  and 
worldly  wisdom.  Rossini's  peace  of  mind  will  benefit,  unquestion 
ably,  from  this  advance ;  but  I  suspect  that  his  genius  is  liable  to  suffer 


IL  BARBIERE  DI  SIVIGLIA  185 

proportionately.  Neither  Canova  nor  Vigano  ever  completely  van 
quished  their  absurd,  their  ridiculous  tendency  to  fall  in  love. 

Once  we  accept  that  the  general  tone  and  atmosphere  of  the  Barber 
is  to  be  that  of  a  novel  by  Crebillon^zfe,  it  is  impossible  to  imagine  a 
more  brilliant  display  of  wit,  nor  of  the  peculiar  and  piquant  origin 
ality  which  is  the  whole  essential  charm  of  gallantry,  than  that  which 
is  to  be  observed  in 

Sol  due  righe  di  biglietto 


II  maestro  faccio  a  lei*! 
Donne  donne,  eterni  Dei!1 

This  is  another  instance  of  music  in  the  "French  tradition",  displayed 
in  all  its  purity  and  with  all  its  glittering  brilliance.  Two  tyrannical 
forces,  pox*  and  party-politics,  have  done  their  worst  to  make  us 
serious;  yet  many  years  have  still  to  roll  away  before  we  shall  find 
ourselves — in  some  respects  at  least — cleared  of  the  old  and  well- 
established  charge  of  frivolity.  Our  younger  generation  is  still  a 
hundred  years  behind  the  times,  compared  with  Claverhouse,  or 
Henry  Morton,  as  they  are  described  in  Scott's  Old  Mortality.  Praise 
heaven,  France  is  still,  and  will  remain  for  many  years  to  come,  the 
land  where  love  is  charming  because  it  is  empty-headed,  and  delici 
ous  because  it  is  artificial.  And  so  long  as  compliments  and  kisses 
continue  to  be  symbolic  of  our  social  life  and  national  character,  the 
Barber  of  Seville,  and  in  particular  the  duet: 

Sol  due  righe  di  biglietto  . . . 

will  remain  the  unchanging  models  of  French  music.  It  is  perhaps 
worth  observing  that,  if  we  simply  think  of  Rosina  as  being  twenty- 
eight  years  old  and  a  widow,  like  Celiante  in  le  Philosophe  marie  or 
Julie  in  le  Dissipateur,  the  tone  of  her  love  is  quite  above  reproach. 
Observe  further,  however,  that  music  can  no  more  portray  affectation 
than  painting  can  paint  masks.  And  observe  finally,  that  Rossini  is  for 
ever  obsessed  with  the  fear  that  his  musical  ideas,  however  charming 
in  themselves,  are  in  the  end  liable  to  grow  boring.  If  you  compare  this 
duet  with  the  one  which  Farinelli  composed  and  inserted  into  Cima- 
rosa's  il  Matrimonio  segreto,  between  the  Count  and  Elisetta  (sung 

1  Only  two  lines  of  a  love-letter  ...?       I  play  the  master  to  her!  Women, 
women !  O  ye  eternal  gods ! 


186  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

by  Pellegrini  and  Signorina  Cinti,  thesame  two  performers  who  sing  the 
duet  in  the  Barber),  you  cannot  fail  to  be  struck,  time  and  again,  by 
the  number  of  phrases,  particularly  towards  the  end,  which  Rossini 
would  have  cut  short*,  for  fear  lest  the  audience  should  grow  bored. 
In  the  passage: 

Fortunati  i  affetti  miei!1 

there  is  a  ring  of  genuine  happiness,  but  it  is  still  the  happiness  of  a 
brisk  young  widow,  and  not  that  of  a  girl  of  eighteen.  Considering 
this  piece  as  a  whole,  we  may  conclude  that  there  are  very  few  duets 
indeed,  even  in  Rossini's  tragic  operas,  where  he  attained  to  such 
splendid  heights  of  originality  and  dramatic  expression.  I  should 
maintain  on  this  evidence,  that  if  Rossini  had  been  born  to  an 
income  of  50,000  livres  a  year,  like  his  colleague,  Herr  Meyerbeer,  he 
would  have  dedicated  his  genius  entirely  to  opera  buffa.  But  he  had  to 
live;  further,  he  chanced  to  fall  in  with  Signorina  Colbran,  who  per 
formed  exclusively  in  opera  serfa,  a  genre  which  reigned  unchallenged 
in  Naples  at  that  time;  and  further  still,  it  is  to  be  remembered  that, 
throughout  the  remainder  of  Italy,  the  police  administration,  which 
is  as  absurd  in  its  meticulous  attention  to  detail  as  it  is  futile  in  its 
large-scale  projects,  had  decreed  that  theatre-tickets  should  cost  one- 
third  more  for  opera  seria  (such  as  Agnese)  than  for  opera  buffa  (such 
as  the  Barber)]  all  of  which  goes  to  show  that  fools,  of  whatever 
nationality,  and  whether  literary  critics  or  policemen,  imagine  that  it 
is  easier  to  write  comedy  than  to  write  tragedy!  (Could  it  be  that  they 
have  some  dim,  subconscious  inkling  of  the  role  which  they  them 
selves  play  in  the  world,  and  of  their  own  multitudinous  ubiquity?) 
Incidentally,  it  was  this  same  police-administration,  established  forty 
years  ago  now,  by  Leopold,  Grand-Duke  of  Tuscany,  which,  at  the 
very  dawn  of  its  career,  and  in  a  moment  of  unsurpassable  inspira 
tion,  robbed  Italy  for  ever  of  its  magnificent  indigenous  theatrical 
tradition,  the  Commedia  delP  Arte — the  tradition  of  plays  which 
used  to  be  performed  impromptu,  and  which  Goldoni,  with  his  bald 
and  platitudinous  dialogue,  was  firmly  convinced  that  he  was  super 
seding.  The  last  remnants  of  true  comedy  still  left  in  Italy  survive 
to-day  in  the  marionette-theatres*,  which,  in  Genoa,  in  Rome  and  in 
Milan,  are  truly  excellent,  and  where  the  plays,  having  no  written 

1  Fortunate  are  my  affections! 


IL  BARBIERE  DI  SIVIGLIA  187 

text,  slip  past  the  censor,  and  genuinely  reflect  the  inspiration  of  the 
moment  and  the  interests  of  the  day.  It  seems  scarcely  credible  that  a 
statesman  as  intelligent  as  Cardinal  Consalvi,  a  man  blessed  with 
talent  enough  to  control  his  own  sovereign  to  begin  with,  and  to  rule 
the  State  passably  well  on  top  of  it,  and  who,  moreover,  had  at  one 
time  sufficient  ability  to  become  an  intimate  friend  of  Cimarosa, 
could  personally  devote  three  solid  hours  to  censoring  the  libretto  of 
some  wretched,  third-rate  opera  buffa  (historical  fact,  1821)1  Yet 
even  now,  the  reader  can  have  no  idea  of  the  true  and  full  extent  of 
this  absurdity;  for  his  Eminence  saw  fit  to  pick  a  quarrel  with  the 
word  cozzar  (to  struggle),  which,  he  maintained,  recurred  too 
frequently  within  the  text!  So  much  concern  did  this  worthy  prelate 
display,  out  of  the  pure  goodness  of  his  Christian  heart,  for  the  moral 
welfare  of  the  people  of  Rome,  and  for  their  preservation  in  a  state 
of  Grace  and  unblemished  purity. 

Further  than  this,  I  dare  not  set  down  my  meaning  in  plain  black 
and  white,  nor  even  hint  at  it;  but  I  appeal  to  all  travellers  who  have 
wintered  in  Rome,  or  who  may  chance  to  have  heard,  for  instance, 
one  or  two  of  the  anecdotes  which  concern  the  advancement  of 
Popes  Pius  VI  and  Pius  VIP;  these  are  fair  samples  of  the  people 
whose  morals  are  in  danger  of  being  "corrupted"  by  the  libretto  of 
an  opera  buffa\  In  heaven's  name!  If  you  want  to  "raise  the  moral 
standard",  then  raise  four  extra  companies  of  gendarmes,  pick  out 
annually  the  twenty  judges  who  shall  have  proved  the  most  corrupt, 
and  hang  them!  ...  that  would  "raise  the  moral  standard"  indeed, 
and  a  thousand  times  more  effectively.  Setting  aside  the  whole 
question  of  robbery  in  broad  daylight,  venality  in  the  courts,  and 
other  such  rubbishy  nonsense,  just  consider  what  must  happen  to  the 
morals  of  a  state  where  the  entire  Court  and  every  single  civil  servant 
is  compelled  by  law  to  be,  and  to  remain,  unmarried — in  such  a 
climate,  and  with  such  opportunities,  too!  Since  the  shock  of 
Voltaire's  cynical  onslaught,  it  is  true,  we  no  longer  behold  any  save 
prudent  and  discreet  dotards  raised  to  the  office  of  Cardinal;  but 
these  same  venerable  gentlemen  have  been  in  Holy  Orders  ever  since 
they  reached  the  roaring  age  of  twenty!  ...  not  to  mention  the 
example  of  the  pleasures  of  libertinage  which  they  most  certainly 
observed  under  their  own  father's  roof!  The  wretched  people  of 
Rome  have  been  so  firmly  shaped  and  moulded  by  a  few  centuries  of 


188  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

this  regime  which  I  dare  not  describe,1  that  the  very  virtue  of  surprise 
has  gone  from  them,  and  they  have  no  quality  remaining  to  them 
save  their  ferocity.  Several  of  the  bravest  of  Napoleon's  officers  came 
originally  from  Rome,  and  a  new  Julius  II  would  still  be  able  to 
recruit  there  an  excellent  army;  but  two  solid  centuries  of  Napoleonic 
despotism  would  probably  still  be  insufficient  to  establish  in  such  a 
city  a  code  of  morals  as  pure  as  that  which  reigns  in  Nottingham, 
say,  or  Norwich,  or  any  other  little  English  town.  But,  to  get  back  to 
the  Barber  ...  "Haven't  we  wandered  rather  a  long  way  from  it?"  I 
can  hear  someone  complaining.  Not  so  far  as  you  might  think!  Have 
you  ever  watched  a  trickle  of  spring-water,  clearer  than  glass  and  full 
of  curious  medicinal  properties,  bubbling  out  of  the  ground  at  the 
foot  of  some  tall  range  of  mountains?  Can  you  say  by  what  processes, 
hidden  deep  in  the  heart  of  the  mountain,  it  was  formed?  Some  day, 
perhaps,  a  scientist  will  find  the  answer,  and  prove  it  by  theory  and 
experiment;  but  until  then,  I  shall  continue  to  maintain  that  every 
peculiarity  of  the  whole  range,  the  contours  of  the  upper  valleys,  the 
lie  of  the  forests,  etc., — everything,  every  known  material  factor,  may 
have  some  influence*  upon  the  formation  of  that  pure  and  refreshing 
spring  of  water,  where  the  hunter  comes  to  quench  his  thirst  and 
finds,  as  by  a  miracle,  a  source  of  new  and  vigorous  energy.  Every 
government  in  Europe  maintains  its  Conservatoire]  many  sovereigns 
are  genuinely  fond  of  music,  and  cheerfully  fling  their  entire  revenue 
upon  its  sacrificial  altar;  yet  somehow,  even  that  seems  to  be  no 
certain  guarantee  that  they  can  conjure  up  a  singer  like  Davide  or  a 
composer  like  Rossini. 

There  must,  therefore,  exist  some  undetermined  but  essential 
element,  deep-hidden  at  the  very  heart  of  life  and  society  in  the 
beautiful  land  of  Italy,  or  among  the  German  forests.  It  is  consider 
ably  warmer  in  the  rue  Lepeletier  than  in  Dresden  or  Darmstadt; 
why,  therefore,  are  the  inhabitants  less  civilized?  How  does  it  come 
about  that  any  orchestra  in  Dresden  or  Reggio  can  execute  a 
Rossini  crescendo  with  divine  perfection,  whereas  Paris  finds  it 
brutally  impossible?  And  above  all,  how  does  it  happen  that  these 
German  and  Italian  orchestras  understand  the  art  of  accompanying!* 

1  Vide:  Burckhardt,  Memoires  de  la  Cour  du  pape  (in  which  he  held  the  post  of 
major-domo);  Potter,  History  of  the  Church;  Gorani;  etc. 

2  On  the  one  hand,  perhaps — love  and  sincerity;  on  the  other — vanity,  and 
unceasing  attention  to  others. 


IL  BARBIERE  DI  SIVIGLIA  189 

Bartolo'san^: 

A  un  dottor  della  mia  sorte  ...l 

is  finely  done.  I  should  like  to  hear  it  sung  by  Zuchelli  or  Lablache. 
The  only  comment  I  have  to  make  is  one  which  I  have  probably  made 
rather  too  often  already  concerning  these  arias  in  the  style  of 
Cimarosa;  they  have  more  wit,  and  their  style  is  crisper;  but  they  fall 
far  behind  their  model  in  verve,  passion  and  real  comic  inspiration. 
As  I  am  writing  this,  my  eye  has  chanced  to  fall  on  a  passage  in  the 
libretto : 

Ferma,  old!  non  mi  toccate!2 

To  anyone  who  is  familiar  with  Rome,  its  politics  and  way  of  life, 
this  passage  seems  to  stand  out  like  a  symbol,  the  very  incarnation  of 
that  whole  world  of  suspicion  and  mistrust,  in  which  the  Romagna, 
and  all  those  other  provinces  which,  for  three  centuries,  have  suffered 
under  the  temporal  yoke  of  the  "Church  Militant",3  exist  and  move 
and  have  their  being;  I  would  be  ready  to  wager  that  the  librettist 
had  never  lived  in  the  gentle  plains  of  Lombardy ! 

The  entry  of  Count  Almaviva  disguised  as  a  soldier,  and  the 
beginning  of  the  first-act  finale,  are  models  of  wit,  brilliance  and  light 
ness  of  touch.  There  is  a  delicious  contrast  between  the  weighty  self- 
complacency  of  Bartolo,  with  his  three-fold,  emphatic  repetition: 

Dottor  Bartolo! 
Dottor  Bartolo!41 
and  the  Count's  aside : 

Ah!  venisse  il  caro  oggetto!5 

This  wish  on  the  part  of  the  young  lover  is  charming  in  its  senti 
mental  artificiality.  The  finale,  piquant  and  light  as  a  feather,  is 
unrivalled;  this  section  of  the  score  alone  contains  musical  ideas  in 
such  profusion  as  to  fill  out  a  whole  full-length  opera  of  the  variety 
which  holds  the  stage  at  the  Thedtre  Feydeau.  But  gradually,  as  the 

1  To  a  doctor  of  my  sort ...  *  Ho  there  I  Stop!  Don't  touch  me! 

8  In  the  Papal  States,  religion  is  the  only  living  law.  Compare  Velletri  or 
Rimini  with  the  first  Protestant  state  which  you  may  happen  to  visit.  The  chill 
spirit  of  Protestantism  is  fatal  to  Art;  cf.  Geneva  or  Switzerland.  But,  after  all, 
art  is  only  a  luxury  in  life;  the  essentials  are  honesty,  reason  and  justice. 

4  Doctor  Bartolo!  Doctor  Bartolo! 

5  Ah!  If  only  the  dear  object  of  my  love  would  appear! 


190  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

action  moves  relentlessly  onwards  towards  the  catastrophe,  the 
finale  is  transformed  by  an  unmistakable  undercurrent  of  seriousness 
— a  mood  which  is  already  discernible  in  considerable  measure  in 
Figaro's  warning  to  the  Count: 

Signer,  giudfzio,  per  carital1 
The  chorus: 

Laforza, 
Aprite  qua  ...2 

is  both  picturesque  and  striking.  At  this  point,  Rossini  gives  us  a 
marked  pause,  an  interval  of  silence  and  respite,  of  which  the  listener, 
after  the  deluge  of  pattering  prettiness  to  which  he  has  previously 
been  subjected,  stands  desperately  in  need. 

The  passage  for  three,  and  subsequently  for  five  voices,  in  which 
the  characters  explain  to  the  Commandant  of  the  Seville  police  what 
all  the  disturbance  is  about,  was  the  only  part  of  the  whole  opera 
which  received  an  indisputably  bad  performance  in  Paris.  The 
general  musical  shape  of  the  scene  is  slightly  reminiscent  of  that 
episode  in  il  Matrimonio  segreto,  where  everything  is  explained  to 
Geronimo  (end  of  Act  I).  This  is  the  one  serious  criticism  which  may 
be  levelled  at  the  Barber ;  any  spectator  who  is  in  the  least  knowledge 
able  about  opera  tends  to  be  worried  by  a  certain  lack  of  originality; 
the  impression  one  gathers  is  always  that  of  listening  to  a  new  edition 
— corrected,  perhaps,  and  stylistically  more  exciting,  but  still  a  new 
edition— of  some  score  by  Cimarosa  which  one  has  heard,  and  loved, 
long  ago;  and  you  know  as  well  as  I  do,  that  nothing  is  so  fatal,  so 
crippling  to  the  imagination  as  an  appeal  to  memory. 

The  arrival  of  the  Count,  and  his  subsequent  release,  followed  by 
the  obsequious  apologies  on  the  part  of  the  police,  reminds  me 
irresistibly  of  the  police  methods  which  were  current  in  Palermo  a 
few  years  ago.  A  young  Frenchman,  handsome  without  being  dandi 
fied,  and  at  least  as  remarkable  for  his  amiable  disposition  as  for  his 
undisputed  courage,  was  grossly  insulted  in  the  public  theatre  by  a 
man  of  considerable  local  prestige  and  influence — which  insult  he 
promptly  avenged.  The  young  man's  friends,  however,  urgently 
warned  him  to  be  on  his  guard  as  he  left  the  theatre;  and  in  effect  he 
was  set  upon  by  the  Sicilian  aristocrat.  The  Frenchman,  who  chanced 

1  Caution,  my  Lord,  for  pity's  sake!  *  An  effort!  You  open  here  ... 


IL  BARBIERE  DI  SIVIGLIA  191 

to  be  an  unusually  skilful  swordsman,  managed  to  disarm  Ms  advers 
ary  without  killing  him;  and,  forgetting  that  he  was  not  in  Paris, 
summoned  the  watch.  The  watch  had  in  fact  witnessed  the  assault, 
and  hastened  to  arrest  the  would-be  assassin;  but  no  sooner  had  the 
latter  haughtily  revealed  his  identity  than  the  watch  scattered  with 
countless  expressions  of  grovelling  apology;  another  word  from  the 
assailant,  and  they  would  most  obligingly  have  arrested  the  victim! 
This  proves  at  least  that  there  is  nothing  intrinsically  improbable  in 
this  scene  from  the  first-act  finale  of  the  Barbery  but  what  is  highly 
unlikely  is  the  startled  immobility  to  which  Bartolo  is  reduced  by  the 
sight  of  the  curious  methods  of  justice  in  his  own  land.  He  should  in 
any  case  have  been  quite  accustomed  to  them  by  now;  but  further,  it 
is  a  marked  characteristic  of  dry  and  dishonest  natures  like  his,  far 
from  letting  themselves  be  terrorized  by  the  arbitrary  injustices  of 
government,  to  exploit  them  deliberately  in  order  to  feather  their  own 
nests;  such  people  are  invariably  born  profiteers. 

In  my  experience,  Bartolo's  petrified  immobility,  which  he  main 
tains  while  all  the  others  gather  about  him,  singing: 

Freddo  e  immobile 
Come  una  statua  ...1 

unfailingly  produces  an  unsatisfactory  impression.  Immediately  the 
audience  has  an  instant  to  realize  that  the  absurdity  is  overdone,  the 
laughter  dries  up ;  and  this  alone  is  sufficient  to  prove  that  the  farce  is 
badly  written.  The  spectator  must  be  stunned  into  uncritical  accept 
ance,  as  he  is  by  Moliere  or  by  Cimarosa;  but  this  is  one  of  the  most 
difficult  things  to  achieve  in  all  the  art  of  music.  For  music,  by  its 
very  nature,  cannot  hurry  its  own  development;  whereas  the  develop 
ment  of  the  intrigues  and  machinations  of  farce,  if  they  are  to  succeed 
at  all,  must  move  with  the  rapidity  of  lightning.  Music  must  some 
how  manage  to  convey  directly  comic  suggestions  of  the  same  order 
as  those  which,  in  the  straight  theatre,  might  be  conveyed  by  the 
speed  and  sheer  acting  ability  of  a  first-rate  comedy. 

ACT  TWO 

I  feel  that  the  duet  between  the  Count  (in  clerical  disguise)  and 
Bartolo  is  slightly  dragging;  when  a  composer  loses  his  susceptibility 
1  Cold  and  motionless  as  a  statue  ... 


192  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

to  passion,  the  danger  is  always  the  same:  he  may  continue  to  be 
provocative  and  amusing,  but  as  soon  as  the  spark  of  hilarity  dies 
down,  he  grows  dull.  There  are  top  many  repetitions  of  the  Count's 
phrase: 

Pace  e  gioja  ...,1 

and  in  the  end,  the  wretched  Bartolo  himself  could  scarcely  be  more 
exasperated  than  the  audience.  For  Rosina's  music-lesson,  it  is  tradi 
tional  in  Italy  to  use  the  charming  little  aria: 

La  biondina  in  gondoletta  ...,2 

which,  unfortunately,  has  been  sung  so  often  by  now  that  it  has 
become  rather  hackneyed.  Incidentally,  while  on  the  subject  of  tradi 
tional  Venetian  music,  there  are  innumerable  comments  which  I 
should  like  to  make — enough  to  make  a  book  within  a  book. 
Stylistically  speaking,  the  music  of  the  Venetians  might  be  compared 
with  the  paintings  of  Parmigianino,  as  contrasted,  for  example,  with 
the  severity  and  restraint  of  a  Poussin  or  a  Domenichino ;  it  is  like  a 
dying  echo  of  the  voluptuous  paradise  of  sensuality  which  reigned  in 
Venice  around  1760.  However,  if  I  were  to  follow  up  the  conclusions 
of  this  theory,  checking  my  deductions  against  the  evidence  of 
examples,  I  should  find  myself  committed  to  a  major  treatise  on 
political  theory.3  Paris  has  had  the  opportunity  for  hearing  Signora 
Nina  Vigano,  who  is  the  finest  performer  of  songs  in  the  Venetian 
tradition;  her  whole  style  of  voice-production  differs  utterly  from 
that  which  is  normally  practised  in  France.  Yet  if  we  were  to  make 
our  music  natural,  this  is  the  way  in  which  we  should  sing,  and  most 
decidedly  not  in  the  style  of  Madame  Branchu. 

In  a  properly-organized  production,  Rosina  would  be  given  a 
different  song  for  the  music-lesson  scene  every  two  or  three  perform 
ances.  In  Paris,  Madame  Fodor,  who,  incidentally,  sang  the  part  to 
perfection,  perhaps  better  than  it  has  ever  been  sung  before,  invari 
ably  gave  us  the  aria  from  Tancredi: 

Di  tantipalpiti  ...,4 

1  Peace  and  joy  ... !  2  The  fair-haired  maiden  in  the  gondola  ... 

3  Vide:  Carlo  Gozzi,  Mtfmoires,  in  particular  his  unending  controversy  with 
Signor  Cratarol;  nothing  could  offer  a  more  marked  contrast  with  Giacopo  Ortiz. 
V.  Signora  Albrizzi,  Opera. 

4  Of  so  many  heart-beats  ... 


IL  BARBIERE  DI  SIVIGLIA  193 

arranged  as  a  contre-danse,  which  sent  the  more  venerable  members 
of  the  audience  into  positive  ecstasies  of  delight;  as  soon  as  the  tune 
started,  you  could  watch  every  powdered  wig  in  the  whole  theatre 
bobbing  up  and  down  in  rhythm! 
Rossini  himself  maintains  that  Bartolo's  aria: 

Quando  mi  set  vicfna  . .  -1 

was  intended  to  be  a  kind  of  pastiche  of  an  older  musical  tradition; 
"and,"  he  usually  adds,  "I  have  certainly  done  it  justice,  if  not  more 
than  justice!"  I  would  not  doubt  Rossini's  sincerity  for  an  instant; 
and  indeed,  it  might  easily  pass  for  a  quotation  from  Logroscino  or 
Pergolese — minus  the  passion  and  minus  the  genius.  These  great  old 
masters  appear  to  Rossini  rather  as  Dante  used  to  appear  to  Meta- 
stasio  and  the  generation  of  poets  around  1760,  when  the  relentless 
efforts  of  the  Jesuits  had  half-succeeded  in  dimming  the  glory  of  the 
Divine  Comedy. 

The  great  quintet  belonging  to  the  scene  of  don  Basilio's  intrusion 
and  dismissal  is  a  considerable  milestone  in  the  whole  art  of  musical 
composition.  Paesiello's  quintet  in  the  same  context  is  a  masterpiece 
of  grace  and  simplicity,  and  no  one  was  more  acutely  aware  than 
Rossini  of  the  veneration  in  which  it  was  held  throughout  the  length 
and  breadth  of  Italy.  At  the  most  recent  revival  of  Paesiello's 
Barber,  which  had  taken  place  at  la  Scala  in  1814,  this  passage  alone 
had  been  triumphantly  applauded,  while  the  remainder  of  the  opera 
had  been  received  with  comparative  indifference.  I  would  strongly 
urge  all  genuine  lovers  of  opera  to  arrange  an  actual  performance  of 
these  two  quintets,  one  after  the  other,  within  the  space  of  a  single 
evening;  in  this  way,  one  may  learn  more  intrinsic  and  fundamental 
truths  about  music  in  quarter  of  an  hour  than  I  could  set  out  in 
twenty  chapters.  The  older  master's  composition  is  designed  to  stress, 
with  comic  and  original  effect,  the  unanimity  of  the  injunction  Go 
back  to  bed,  which  is  hurled  at  the  wretched  Basilio  from  every 
quarter;  and  it  is  this  particular  aspect  of  the  music  which  provokes 
such  a  roar  of  laughter  from  the  audience — a  roar  as  rollicking  and  as 
irrepressible  as  the  mirth  of  the  Gods  themselves.  By  contrast, 
Rossini's  setting  strikes  a  note  of  admirable  dramatic  truth,  especi 
ally  in  the  phrases: 

1  When  you  are  near  me  ... 


194  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

Ehi,  dottore,  unaparola  ...,1 
and  in: 

Siete  giallo  come  un  morto  ...,2 
and  in: 

Questa  efebbre  scarlatina  ....3 

But  observe  that  this  note  of  dramatic  truth  is  seldom — indeed 
scarcely  ever — struck  in  scenes  portraying  deep  emotion;  perhaps 
this  may  even  be  one  of  the  reasons  for  Rossini's  incredible  popular 
ity.  Walter  Scott's  novels  are  original  and  unexpected,  precisely 
because  they  dispense  completely  with  the  traditional  love  scenes 
which  had  formed  the  basis  of  every  other  successful  novel  for  two 
hundred  years. 

The  conclusion  of  this  scene,  where  Figaro  wards  off  Bartolo's 
indignation  by  slashing  at  him  with  a  towel,  used  to  be  played  by 
Bassi,  the  renowned  buffo,  in  so  singular  a  manner  that,  in  the  end, 
the  audience  almost  began  to  feel  sorry  for  Rosina's  ill-fated  guard 
ian,  so  cruelly  deceived  he  was,  and  so  utterly  miserable. 

The  ana: 

U  vecchiotto  cerca  moglie  ...4 

which  is  sung  by  Berta,  the  elderly  governess,  is  extremely  witty. 
This  is  one  of  those  arias  which  Rossini  himself  sings  with  extra 
ordinary  polish  and  comic  effect.  I  even  suspect  a  trace  of  coquettish 
vanity  in  such  displays;  Rossini  seems  to  find  particular  pleasure  in 
showing  off  a  splendid  aria  which  might  otherwise  have  passed  un 
noticed,  and  whose  worth  alone  would  have  brought  fame  and  for 
tune  to  Morlacchi5  or  to  many  another  among  Rossini's  rivals. 

The  storm  scene  towards  the  end  of  the  second  act  of  the  Barber  is, 
in  my  opinion,  greatly  inferior  to  the  similar  scene  in  la  Cenerentola. 
During  the  storm,  Count  Almaviva  makes  his  way  secretly  into 
Doctor  Bartolo's  house,  and  we  see  him  clambering  up  on  to  the 

1  Hey!  Doctor,  a  word  with  you'...       *  You're  as  yellow  as  a  corpse  ... 

*  It's  scarlet-fever!  *  The  old  man's  looking  for  a  wife  ... 

6  I  have  before  me  a  most  curious  treatise,  by  one  Signor  Majer,  of  Venice, 
which  informs  us  that  Signor  Morlacchi  (di  Perugia)  is  the  greatest  composer  of 
our  time.  On  the  other  hand,  a  certain  Parisian  gentleman,  of  some  note  in  the 
world  of  letters,  and  an  influential  correspondent  in  the  daily  press,  assures  us 
(particularly  since  Rossini  had  the  impudence  to  turn  down  his  libretto,  entitled 
les  Atmniennes)  that  the  greatest  composer  of  our  age  is  Signor  Spontini.  One 
eagerly  awaits  the  oracular  pronouncement  of  M.  Berton  (de  Vlnstitui)  on  this 
thorny  problem. 


IL  BARBIERE  DI  SIVIGLIA  195 

balcony.  Rosina  believes  him  to  be  a  villain,  and  not  without  reason, 
since  he  did  in  fact  hand  her  letter  over  to  her  guardian.  Almaviva, 
falling  at  her  feet,  undeceives  her;  but  this  climax,  with  all  that  it 
implies  in  the  way  of  emotional  tension,  inspires  nothing  more 
moving  or  profound  in  Rossini's  imagination  than  another  froth  of 
roulades  which,  on  the  whole,  are  even  more  trifling  than  usual.  On 
the  other  hand,  I  would  stoutly  maintain  that  the  finest  music  in  the 
whole  opera  occurs  in  the  concluding  section  of  this  same  trio,  whose 
beginning  is  so  tediously  reminiscent  of  the  love-scenes  in  Quentin 
Durward: 

Zittiy  zitti,  piano,  piano!1 

I  naturally  hesitated  to  make  so  extravagant  a  claim,  until  I  learnt 
that,  in  Vienna,  where  the  audience  this  season  (1823)  has  had  the 
rare  good  fortune  to  hear  Madame  Fodor,  Davide  and  Lablache  in 
the  same  cast,  it  has  become  almost  traditional  to  insist  upon  an 
encore  for  this  little  number.  I  entertain  the  most  lively  respect  for  the 
musical  taste  of  the  Viennese,  for  it  is  their  unique  triumph  to  have 
fashioned  a  Haydn  and  a  Mozart.  It  was  Metastasio,  living  among 
them  for  forty  years,  who  fired  the  highest  circles  of  Viennese  society 
with  so  passionate  a  love  of  art;  in  Vienna,  moreover,  the  nobility, 
which  includes  in  its  ranks  some  of  the  wealthiest  and  most  truly 
"gentlemanly"  aristocrats  in  Europe,  does  not  disdain  to  furnish 
directors  for  the  Opera  House. 

The  only  fault  which  mars  the  undeniable  perfection  of  this 
inspired  little  trio — and  a  trifling  fault  it  is  at  that! — is  that  it  holds 
up  the  action  for  an  unconscionable  time  just  at  the  point  where  the 
plot  demands  hurry  and  bustle*.  If  one  could  only  transplant  it  else 
where,  using  it  in  a  different  setting,  it  would  be  irreproachable.  It  is 
the  very  incarnation  of  the  happy  ending,  particularly  of  some 
charmingly  stylized,  artificial  love-affair;  it  would  be  admirably 
suited  to  a  libretto  based  on  one  of  those  infinitely  fragile  comedies 
by  Lope  de  Vega. 

If  the  present  volume  is  still  extant,  say  in  1840,  I  trust  that  the 
reader  will  hasten  to  throw  it  on  the  fire;  remember,  for  instance  the 
fate  of  all  those  political  pamphlets  published  in  1789 — how  dull  and 
flat  they  seem  to  us  to-day!  Yet  in  1840,  when  the  company  is 

1  Quietly,  quietly!  Softly,  softly! 


196  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

gathered  together  in  the  salon  of  Madame  Merilde  (Merilde  is 
exactly  ten  years  old  now,  and  disarmingly  pretty,  and  adores 
Rossini,  but  secretly  likes  Cimarosa  better),  all  this  stuff  which  I  have 
just  spent  the  last  hour  writing  will  seem  certainly  no  less  stale  and 
unprofitable.  The  revolution  in  music,  whose  beginnings  we  are  now 
witnessing,  foretells  the  total  extinction  of  all  the  good  old  ways  and 
traditions  which  are  the  very  essence  of  French  taste.  Shame  indeed! 
The  critical  revolution  which  has  transformed  the  average  audience 
in  the  Theatre  Louvois  during  the  course  of  the  last  four  years  is 
already  positively  alarming;  my  evidence,  moreover  (the  sales  of 
Messrs  Pacini,  Carli,  etc.),  is  statistical,  scientific,  and  therefore 
unimpeachable.  Even  by  1833,  many  of  the  ideas  contained  in  this 
volume,  which  now  seem  obscure  or  decidedly  avant-garde,  are 
bound  to  appear  platitudinous  and  common-place.  The  partisans  of 
the  old  regime  have  but  one  last  resource — to  banish  Italian  opera 
from  the  soil  of  France,  or  else  to  supplant  its  native  singers  with  a 
sprinkling  of  well-picked  French  prime  donne.  A  few  nice  voices, 
whose  owners  have  never  been  properly  taught  how  to  use  them, 
would  soon  throttle  the  life  out  of  any  opera! 


CHAPTER  XVII 

Of  the  Public  in  General,  Considered 
in  Relation  to  Art 


i 


.N  MUSIC,  as  in  everything  else,  the  population  of  France  is 
divided  into  two  classes,  with  the  result  that  never  before  has  there 
been  so  wide  and  universal  a  scope  for  the  average  Frenchman  to 
exercise  his  natural  bent  for  sarcasm.  One  class  consists  largely  of 
persons  over  forty;  and  these  people,  who  have  all  made  fortunes  in 
business,  wear  powdered  wigs,  admire  Cicero  and  are  regular  readers 
of  la  Quotidienne,  etc.,  etc.,  may  talk  and  argue  themselves  hoarse 
before  they  will  ever  convince  me  that  they  really  like  any  kind  of 
music  except  music-hall  ballads  and  ditties  with  a  good  tum-ti-tum 
rhythm*.  Such  persons,  whom  I  cherish  most  reverently  as  quaint 
and  venerable  relics  of  a  generation  which  is  vanishing  and  of  a  way 
of  life  which  is  dying  out,  will  never  in  a  thousand  years  be  con 
verted  to  Italian  music.  Before  the  Revolution,  Paris  (and  by  Paris, 
I  mean  the  sovereign  judge  and  arbiter  of  all  art  and  music  in  France) 
was  nothing  but  an  immense  meeting-place  for  the  idle.  I  beg  you,  for 
one  instant,  to  stop  and  consider  the  following  isolated,  but  incalcul 
ably  significant  circumstance:  prior  to  1789,  the  King  was  not 
responsible  for  one  single  appointment  in  all  the  realm. 

In  the  Army,  posts  were  filled  in  accordance  with  a  most  strictly- 
observed  order  of  seniority;  and  thirty  years  of  peace  had  trans 
formed  every  officer  into  a  very  model  of  idleness.  In  the  Law,  once 
the  aspirant  had  bought  himself  his  judgeship,  or  purchased  his  title 
of  conseiller  au  Parlement,  he  was  established,  immutably,  for  the 
rest  of  his  natural  days.  As  soon  as  a  young  man  had  made  Ms  first 
entry  into  the  world,  or  rather,  as  soon  as  he  was  comfortably 
installed  in  the  post  which  his  father  had  purchased  for  him,  the 
further  prospects  of  Ms  profession  held  neither  interest  nor  excite 
ment,  and  there  was  nothing  left  for  Mm  to  do  in  all  the  world  but  to 
amuse  himself  as  best  he  might;  Ms  career  was  predestined,  charted, 
ordained  and  predetermined  by  outside  forces;  the  robes  of  the  office 


198  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

usurped  the  place  of  the  man,  and  decided  his  fate  in  spite  of  himself. 
The  only  influence  which  could  conceivably,  in  the  rarest  of  instances, 
alter  this  arrangement,  was  the  personal  favour  which  a  young  man 
might  conquer  in  high  places;  thus  M.  Caron,  the  watchmaker's  son, 
became  the  celebrated  M.  de  Beaumarchais;  but  his  was  a  special 
case,  for  he  had  taught  the  guitar  to  Mesdames  de  France,  the  old 
King's  daughters*. 

Life  in  those  days  was  spent  wholly  in  public;  in  public  one  lived, 
and  in  public  one  died.  But  the  same  Frenchman  who,  in  1780,  had 
forgotten  how  to  exist  outside  the  crowded  gatherings  of  the  salons,'1 
now  hides  away  in  the  secret  depths  of  his  own  home.  Yet,  in  a 
society  which  spent  its  whole  waking  day  either  talking  or  listening,  a 
ready  wit  came  naturally  to  rank  as  the  foremost  advantage;  a  young 
man,  upon  his  first  entry  into  the  world,  might  well  have  no  ambition 
to  become  a  Marshal  of  France;  but  the  temptation  to  become 
another  d'Alembert  was  far  less  easily  resisted.2 

The  government  of  that  epoch  was  extremely  tolerant,  and  would 
never  have  dreamed  of  sending  journalists  to  prison  chained  in  a 
gang  of  common  malefactors*;  such  barbarous  behaviour  would 
have  shaken  society  to  its  very  foundations.  The  authority  which  con 
trolled  the  destinies  of  men  was  an  insane  conglomeration  of  warring 
and  incompatible  elements,  of  scattered  fragments  of  mediaeval 
customs,  of  feudal  and  military  traditions  in  a  better  or  worse  state  of 
preservation;  and  the  result,  in  art,  was  the  emergence  of  a  whole 
series  of  false  and  thoroughly  artificial  standards  of  taste.3  Since 
enthusiasm  of  any  kind,  that  is  to  say,  any  genuine  interest  in  any 
thing,  was  growing  daily  rarer  in  occurrence,  it  soon  ceased  to  be 
urged  that  a  sentence  should  convey  a  meaning  clearly  or  distinctly; 
instead,  language  was  required  to  be  attractive  in  itself,  and  every 
utterance  had  perforce  to  contain  some  quaint  or  original  turn  of 

1  Nowadays,  the  average  bachelor  dines  alone  in  a  restaurant  on  at  least  three 
hundred  evenings  out  of  every  year;  whereas  in  1780,  he  would  scarcely  have 
shown  his  face  there  twice  a  month.  The  younger  generation,  in  those  days,  used 
to  think  it  beneath  their  dignity  to  be  seen  in  a  caf&.  Supper-parties  used  to  take 
up  a  quarter  of  one's  whole  life;  but  supper-parties  have  now  ceased  to  be. 

2  Vide:  Marmontel,  M4moires\  Morellet,  Memoires;  Madame  du  DefFand, 
Correspondence:  Mademoiselle  de  Lespinasse,  Lettres,  etc. 

3  We,  in  the  year  1823,  may  call  them/a/je  and  artificial:  but  in  1780  they 
seemed  very  real  and  very  natural.  The  fairest  thing  that  one  can  say,  is  that  the 
maximum  quantity  of  potential  emotion  in  any  individual  (which  emotion  re 
presents  the  raw  material  of  art)  was  extremely  limited. 


THE  PUBLIC  AND  ART  199 

phrase.  Moreover,  as  France  gradually  became  transformed  into  a 
nation  of  cynics,  it  was  to  be  observed  that  the  powers  of  concentra 
tion  which  come  naturally  to  any  man  of  reasonable  intelligence 
seemed  to  evaporate.  Battles  or  banquets  were  planned  with  a 
similar  nonchalance.1  As  soon  as  any  situation  arose  which  required 
the  slightest  integration  of  rational  effort,  the  result  was  catastrophic; 
the  firework-display,  for  instance,  which  was  arranged  to  celebrate 
the  marriage  of  Louis  XVI  (1770),  ended  in  murder  and  rioting  in  the 
Champs  Elysees— yet  the  following  evening,  the  Prevot  des  March- 
ands*  who  had  been  responsible  for  the  "organization"  was  not 
ashamed  to  appear,  in  the  full  regalia  of  a  Knight  of  the  Order  of  the 
Holy  Ghost,  at  the  Operal  And  gossip  made  a  comic  catch-phrase  out 
of  the  plight  of  the  Marechal  de  Richelieu,  who,  caught  up  in  the  riot 
where  two  thousand  people  were  being  crushed  to  death,  could  do 
nothing  but  cry  out  piteously :  "Gentlemen!  Gentlemen!  Come  to  the 
rescue  of  a  Marshal  of  France!"2 

Or  would  you  have  a  more  recent  example?  Then  study  the  security 
measures  which  were  taken  to  safeguard  the  secret  of  Louis  XVTs 
flight  to  Varennes,  and  the  behaviour  of  the  various  people  con 
cerned.  The  zeal  of  those  involved  in  this  tragic  farce  is  unquestioned; 
their  incompetence,  positively  astounding— yet  typical  of  a  whole 
generation. 

This  same  generation,  though  in  itself  elegant  and  frivolous,  had 
no  words  of  praise  lyrical  enough  for  the  energetic  literary  manner 
of  a  Bossuet  or  a  Montesquieu;  yet  the  most  self-opinionated 
admirers  of  these  great  writers  would  have  recoiled  in  horror  before 
the  strong  familiarity  of  their  language,  while  the  suggestion  that  they 
should  use  such  a  style  themselves  would  have  left  them  petrified  with 
apprehension.3  To  judge  by  appearances,  the  literary  world  gave  its 

1  Vide:  Bezenval,  M^moires  (description  of  the  battle  of  Fillinghausen) ;  also  des 
criptions  of  the  battles  fought  by  the  Prince  de  Clermont  and  the  Prince  de  Soubise. 
V.  also:  Lauzun,  Mdmoires,  with  the  detailed  account  of  his  American  expedition. 

2  Vide:  M4moires  of  Madame  du  Hausset,  lady-in-waiting  to  Madame  de 
Pompadour;  Memoires  of  Madame  Campan  (particularly  the  section  prudently 
suppressed  by  certain  cautious  editors). 

8  "Sulla**,  writes  Montesquieu  in  his  de  la  Grandeur  des  Remains  et  de  leur 
Decadence,  "knew  properly  what  he  was  about  when  he  took  such  a  step".  Yet 
Marmontel  would  never  have  dared  use  so  plain  an  idiom;  and  even  to-day  pur 
older  generation  of  writers  is  no  bolder.  Think  of  the  acid  comments  and  critic 
isms  which  have  been  levelled  at  M.  Courier  on  account  of  Ms  admirable 
H4rodote—it  is  Herodotus,  apparently,  whom  our  learned  academicians  wish  to 
save  from  danger! 


200  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

preference  to  its  Bossuets  and  its  Montesquieus,  rather  than  to  its 
DeUlles,  its  La  Harpes,  its  Thomas,  its  Dorats  or  its  abbes  Barthelemy ; 
yet  in  the  event  it  was  the  last-named  who  alone  supplied  it  with  fare 
dressed  and  spiced  to  its  taste,  and  furnished  it  with  the  only  pleasures 
which  its  blase  and  jaded  palate  was  still  in  any  fit  state  to  appreciate. 
In  the  midst  of  this  brilliant  and  depraved  society,  of  which  we  to-day 
can  form  no  conception,  nothing  could  have  appeared  more  absurd, 
more  monstrous  nor  more  perverted  than  a  man  of  simple  affections, 
capable  of  sincere  and  genuine  emotion.  M.  Turgot,  whose  devotion 
to  the  welfare  of  the  realm  was  inspired  by  sincere  and  unfashionable 
motives  precisely  of  this  nature,  needed  all  the  protection  and  influ 
ence  of  one  of  the  most  intelligent  and  highly-placed  women  in 
France  before  he  could  escape  blatant  ridicule;  and  even  so,  in  the 
Faubourg  Saint-Germain,  there  is  some  doubt  still  whether  he  got 
away  entirely  unscathed. 

In  a  society  where  any  man  of  true  feeling  and  emotional  integrity 
was  pursued  from  childhood  by  sarcasm  and  ironical  taunts,  I  leave 
it  to  the  reader's  imagination  to  fathom  what  fate  befell  that  faculty 
which  is  known  as  creative  imagination. 

At  the  first  sign  or  stirring  of  originality,  it  was  pelted  with  ridi 
cule;  and  of  necessity,  therefore,  it  took  refuge  in  prettiness  and 
preciosity;  yet  there  was  worse  to  follow,  for  soon  enough  it  found 
itself  compelled,  before  venturing  on  the  least  ambitious  flight  of 
fancy,  to  take  a  surreptitious  glance  around  the  salon,  lest  its  enthusi 
asm  should  present  its  neighbours  with  a  heaven-sent  pretext  for 
malicious  irony. 

With  imagination  fallen  into  this  state  of  paralysis,  it  needs  no 
great  powers  of  diagnosis  to  visualize  what  fate,  in  France  and  in  the 
year  1770,  must  have  overtaken  the  art  of  music.  Its  principle  function 
was  to  provide  a  measure  for  dancing  to  at  balls;  its  secondary  role, 
to  cause  astonishment  at  the  opera  with  its  "mighty  screeching", 
which  effect  was  aided  and  abetted  by  the  plain,  hygienic  style  of 
French  singing.1  There  was,  however,  one  event  which,  insignificant 
as  it  was,  yet  had  some  indirect  effect  on  music:  namely,  the  arrival 
of  a  young  and  lovely  Queen  straight  from  Vienna,  Now  the  Germans 
are  a  sincere  people,  and  as  such  they  have  imagination,  and,  conse- 

1  Vide:  Madame  d'Epinay,  Mlmoires  (details  of  the  morning's  occupation  of 
M.  d'Epinay). 


THE  PUBLIC  AND  ART  201 

quently,  music.  It  is  to  Marie-Antoinette  that  we  owe  Gluck  and 
Piccini,  and  the  excellent,  provocative  controversies  which  raged 
between  the  "King's  party"  and  the  "Queen's  party".  These  con 
troversies  lent  music  weight  and  prominence,  without,  of  course, 
making  it  any  better  understood;  for,  once  again,  to  create  under 
standing  would  have  meant  refashioning  the  sensibility  of  an  entire 
race. 

Let  me  now  recapture  the  thread  of  my  argument.  In  1780,  the 
public  of  Paris  was  a  public  of  idlers;  to-day,  not  only  would  it  be 
extremely  hard  to  find  a  score  of  genuine  idlers  in  the  whole  hive  of 
Parisian  society,  but  furthermore,  thanks  to  the  spirit  of  partisan 
ship  which  has  sprung  up  over  the  past  four  years,  we  may  actually 
be  standing  on  the  threshold  of  a  new  era  of  passionate  enthusiasms. 
A  change  of  so  radical  a  character,  obviously,  would  resolve  the 
entire  problem. 

Out  of  this  whole,  immense  maelstrom  of  events,  whose  general 
outline  I  have  just  been  tracing,  it  is  my  intention  to  isolate  one  single, 
tiny  current;  I  shall  beg  the  reader  to  observe  one  thing  only:  namely, 
the  revolution  which  all  this  prodigious  upheaval  in  the  lives  and 
manners  of  the  public  may  have  produced  in  Art — and  not  even  in 
all  the  arts,  but  in  one  alone,  which  is  the  art  of  Music.1 

The  revival  of  music  in  France  will  inexorably  be  brought  about 
by  the  efforts  of  a  number  of  young  ladies  who,  at  the  age  of  twelve 
or  so,  are  now  the  pupils  of  Mademoiselle  Weltz  and  Monsieur 
Massimino,  and  who  are  moreover  fated  to  spend  some  eight  months 
out  of  every  year  in  the  dreary  solitude  of  the  country.  Brothers  and 
sisters  rarely  encourage  one's  vanity;  they  are  akeady  only  too 
familiar,  both  with  one's  best  tartan  dress  and  with  one's  grand 
fantasia  on  the  piano.  In  fact,  all  that  is  really  needed  is  a  good  spell 
of  civil  war;  for  the  enforced  isolation  which  attends  such  calamities 
might  at  last  restore  to  France  something  of  the  old  energy  her  people 
once  possessed  in  the  days  of  Henri  IV  and  of  Agrippa  d'Aubigne; 
and  then  (like  characters  out  of  Walter  Scott)  we  should  all  grow 
earnest,  impassioned  and  sincere.  Under  the  scourge  of  war,  the 
frivolousness  of  the  French  character  would  at  last  know  some 
restraint,  and  imagination  would  flourish  as  of  old;  nor  would  music 
be  far  behind  in  this  refashioned  world.  In  any  corner  of  the  earth 
1  Vide:  Racine  et  Shakespeare  (1823). 

LR  H 


202  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

where  solitude  and  imagination  go  hand  in  hand,  men  learn  soon 
enough  to  love  music;1  for  the  law  admits  no  exceptions,  and  it  is 
this  same  law  which  decrees  that  it  is  logically  impossible  to  expect 
any  enthusiasm  for  music  among  a  people  who  live  perpetually  in 
each  other's  society,  and  who  feel  bored,  and  indeed  all  but  ridicu 
lous,  so  soon  as  they  are  left  alone  for  a  single  instant.2  Let  us  there 
fore  be  tolerant  towards  the  older  generation,  if,  with  all  the  noble 
passages  ofTancredi  or  Otello  to  choose  from,  there  is  really  nothing 
that  they  manage  to  enjoy  save  those  empty,  pretty  little  quadrilles 
which  certain  well-intentioned  arrangers  have  managed  to  "adapt" 
for  the  light-orchestras  of  Beaujon  or  Tivoli.  What  should  a  man  do 
to  escape  from  the  tyranny  of  his  own  generation?  But  the  pheno 
menon  which  gives  me  faith  in  the  inevitable,  ultimate  triumph  of 
true  music  in  France  is  that,  in  spite  of  all  the  machinations  engin 
eered  by  the  Theatre  Feydeau  and  the  Opera,  our  present  generation 
of  young  ladies  has  grown  impertinent,  and  now,  at  the  age  of  twenty, 
having  been  brought  up  in  the  new  society,  is  gaily  snapping  its 
fingers  at  the  venerable  admirers  of  Gluck  and  Gretry.3  The  Barber, 

1  Eg.  Zurich.  Solitude  and  singing  in  church:  such  are,  at  bottom,  the  original 
sources  of  opera  buffa. 

2  Vide:  Volney,  Tableau  des  Etats  Unis>  p.  490. 

3  Hie  older  generation,  however,  will  not  be  baulked  of  its  revenge:  v.  les 
Annales  litteraires,  which  is  the  organ  of  all  right-thinking  intellectuals,  who  treat 
Rossini  as  they  treat  Voltaire!  These  genuine  representatives  of  the  good  old 
French  traditions  have  little  or  no  real  feeling  for  music;  but  since,  on  the  other 
hand,  they  suffer  from  no  lack  of  self-esteem,  there  is  nothing  so  absurd  that  they 
cannot  be  induced  to  swallow  it,  if  one  takes  the  slightest  trouble  to  push  it  down 
their  throats.  Thus  it  happened  that  the  Journal  des  De'bats,  one  of  the  most 
influential  papers  of  this  persuasion,  referring  to  Monsigny,  decorated  the  poor 
old  boy  with  the  title  of  the  "Finest  Composer  in  Europe",  supporting  its  asser 
tion  to  the  length  of  four  close  columns  of  print.  It  is  really  most  aggravating  for 
Europe,  that,  until  this  very  hour,  she  had  completely  failed  to  guess  the  name  of 
her  Finest  Composer!  I  beg  my  readers  to  believe  me,  when  I  protest  that  I  am  in 
no  wise  lacking  in  the  proper  respect  which  is  due  to  our  honorable  press;  news 
papers  are  invaluable — but  above  all  as  thermometers,  whereby  one  may  gauge 
the  present  temperature  of  public  opinion  in  Paris.  Any  public  which  can  endure 
with  patience,  let  alone  with  enthusiasm,  three  theatres  such  as  the  Varietes,  the 
Vaudeville  and  the  Gymnase  (which  not  only  keep  going,  but  thrive  and  flourish 
and  play  to  full  houses  night  after  night,  on  a  diet  which  consists  of  four  solid 
hours  of  unmitigated  bad  singing)  must  logically  abandon  all  serious  claim  to 
soundness  or  subtlety  in  its  musical  taste. 

(I  would  observe,  however,  that  it  is  the  men  of  the  older  generation  who  main 
tain  the  fortunes  of  the  Vaudeville,  and  not  the  aristocratic  young  ladies  of  the 
newer.) 

The  city  which  could  nurture  a  Voltaire  and  a  Moliere  may  rightly,  in  my  opin 
ion,  claim  to  be  entitled  the  wittiest  in  the  world,  Italy,  England  and  Germany 
might  all  be  flung  pell-mell  into  a  crucible,  without  the  result  of  such  a  distillation 


THE  PUBLIC  AND  ART  203 

for  instance,  owes  its  unheard-of  popularity,  not  so  much  to  the 
charming  and  infinitely  flexible  voice  of  Madame  Fodor,  as  to  the 
abundance  of  waltz-tunes  and  quadrilles  which  it  has  supplied  to  our 
dance-orchestras!  After  the  fifth  or  the  sixth  society-ball,  the  Barber 
suddenly  begins  to  sound  strangely  familiar;  and  then  a  visit  to  the 
Theatre  Louvois  becomes  a  real  pleasure.1 

I  should  really  turn  now  to  the  situation  as  it  is  in  the  Provinces, 
but  I  feel  qualms  at  the  thought  of  tackling  so  solemn,  so  majestic  a 
theme.  In  theory,  the  enforced  solitude  which  results  in  such  places 
from  the  terror  of  compromising  one's  reputation  by  being  seen  in  a 
street  or  a  cafe  should  foster  vast  sincerity  and  immense  depth  of 
feeling,  and  spur  the  imagination  onwards  to  flights  of  unparalleled 
daring.  But  in  practice  this  does  not  happen;  for,  even  to-day,  the 
poor  provincial  locked  away  in  the  solitude  of  his  study  is  still  terri 
fied  of  one  thing  above  all  others,  which  is  ridicule;  and  the  object  of 
his  profoundest  hatred,  mistrust  and  jealousy,  as  "well  as  of  his 
unstinted,  but  uncritical  admiration,  is  still,  as  it  always  was,  Paris. 
The  precious  fancies  which  sprang  from  the  perverted  taste  of  the 
glittering  salons  of  the  capital  in  1770  or  thereabouts,  still  reign  in 
undiminished  splendour  in  the  provinces.  But  the  real  sting  of  the 
joke  is  that  these  conceptions  and  ideals  never  were  anything  but 
artificial,  even  in  1770;  they  never  once  sprang  naturally  from  the 
genuine  feelings  and  aspirations  of  the  inhabitants  of  Issoudun  or  of 
Montbrison.2 

A  musical  scholar  of  great  erudition  and  wide  experience,  M. 
Castil-Blaze,  recently  had  the  happy  inspiration  of  providing  new 
libretti,  in  French,  for  Rossini's  operas.  But  this  high-spirited,  swift, 
airy,  brittle  music,  with  all  its  pre-eminently  French  qualities,  might 
have  been  as  dull  as  ditchwater  instead  of  original  and  exciting,  and 

ever  producing  one  single  novel  of  the  quality  of  Candide,  or  even  a  handful  of 
songs  like  those  of  CoUe  or  Beranger;  but  it  is  precisely  this  very  phenomenon 
which  explains  France's  unspeakable  obtuseness  in  matters  musical  Representa 
tives  of  the  old  school  give  all  their  attention  to  the  words  of  a  song,  and  none  of  it 
to  the  turn  to  which  those  words  are  sung;  the  emotional  content,  for  them,  lies 
in  the  text,  and  not  in  the  music. 

1  If  only  someone  would  have  the  notion  of  squeezing  a  ballet  into  the  interval 
between  the  first  and  second  acts  of  every  Italian  opera  which  is  performed  at  the 
Louvois,  thus  warding  off  the  headaches  and  the  fainting-fits  which  tend  to  develop 
during  Act  n,  the  Louvois  would  prove  as  popular  as  it  is  interesting,  and  the 
Theatre  Francais  would  be  doomed.  But  oh !  title  blow  to  national  pride  1 

2  Cf.  le  Spleen,  short-story  by  M.  de  Bezenval,  which  gives  a  beautiful  portrait 
of  provincial  life  in  Besan$on. 


204  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

still  have  been  greeted  in  the  provinces  with  the  same  enthusiastical 
applause;  "for"  (say  the  men-folk)  "isn't  this  the  same  Barber  which 
Paris  has  gone  mad  about!"  Whereas  the  women  (who  alone  in 
France  have  any  real  feeling  for  music)  in  any  case  have  had  Rossini's 
music  lying  about  on  the  piano  for  the  last  five  years !  The  provinces, 
I  feel  certain,  are  fated  to  acquire  a  whole,  positive,  flourishing  host 
of  civic  virtues  many  years  before  they  have  the  first  inkling  of 
genuine  aesthetic  taste,  or  show  themselves  capable  of  any  real 
artistic  appreciation,  or  learn  to  derive  from  art  any  genuine  and 
lasting  emotional  satisfaction.  Is  it  not  strange  to  think,  that  people 
so  full  of  their  own  importance,  so  little  given  (apparently)  to  bashful 
hesitations  and  uncertainties,  should,  in  the  event,  prove  to  entertain 
the  deepest  mistrust  of  their  own  personal  impressions  and  reactions, 
and  to  be  the  least  prepared  to  enquire  simply  and  naturally  whether 
such  and  such  an  experience  causes  them  delight  or  displeasure?  The 
provincial,  preoccupied,  to  the  exclusion  of  all  else,  by  the  figure  he 
may  cut  in  some  salon,  fears  nothing  so  much  in  all  the  world  as  to 
find  himself  isolated  in  his  own  opinion;  and  he  will  scarcely  dare  to 
assert  that  it  is  cold  in  mid- January,  or  that  le  Renegat  bores  him 
stiff,  until  he  has  seen  the  fact  stated  in  black  and  white  in  the 
Parisian  newspapers.1 

The  provinces,  I  suspect,  are  not  likely  to  find  any  early  cure  for 
this  plague  of  aesthetic  cowardice.  They  will  sooner  breed  more 
heroes  like  Desaix  or  Barnave,  Drouot  or  Carnot,  than  father  a  race 
of  men  gifted  with  simple  tastes  based  exclusively  upon  personal 
impressions  and  upon  a  sincere  insight  into  their  own  favourable  or 
unfavourable  reactions. 

The  general  attitude  towards  art  and  music  being  thus  determined, 
M.  Castil-Blaze's  lucrative  inspiration  will  assuredly  bring  about  a 
revolution  in  musical  taste  in  the  provinces  similar  to  that  which  the 
teaching  of  M.  Massimino  has  already  effected  in  Paris.  The  Theatre 
Feydeau  will  be  dead  ten  years  from  now,  and  the  Grand  Opera  itself 
twenty  years  later.  The  government  will  be  forced  to  instal  Italian 
opera  in  the  rue  Le  Peletier;  and  there  will  be  ballets*  in  the  interval 
between  the  acts,  to  delight  us  with  the  artistry  of  the  most  consum- 

1  I  understand  that,  rather  disastrously,  many  smaller  provincial  towns  have 
taken  literally  the  ironical  praise  which  the  critics  meted  out  to  la  Caroletde  and 
Ipsibo£. 


THE  PUBLIC  AND  ART  205 

mate  dancers  in  Europe.  Then,  at  last,  Grand  Opera  in  Paris  will  be 
a  sight  without  parallel  in  all  the  world.  Imagine,  if  you  can,  Otello 
sung  by  Madame  Pasta,  Garcia  and  Davide;  and  between  the  acts, 
the  ballet  les  Pages  du  Due  de  Vendome,  danced  by  Mile  Bigottini, 
Mme  Anatole,  Miles  Noblet  and  Legallois  and  MM.  Paul,  Albert 
and  Coulon. 

This  chapter,  which  you  have  just  been  reading,  replaces  another, 
in  which  I  had  originally  attempted  to  write  a  detailed  history  of  the 
struggle  between  the  two  Barbers  of  Seville  on  the  Parisian  stage,  and 
of  the  eventual  victory  of  Rossini's  version,  the  whole  narrative  to 
have  been  based  upon  contemporary  periodicals,  and  upon  the 
accounts  of  persons  who  assiduously  witnessed  every  performance — 
not  only  those  in  which  the  part  of  Rosina  was  played  by  the  brilliant 
and  attractive  Signora  de'  Begnis,  but  also  those  which  followed 
later,  when  the  character  was  taken  over  by  Madame  Fodor,  who 
enjoyed  such  a  magnificent  and  well-deserved  success  in  the  role. 

But  in  the  end,  instead  of  bothering  with  all  these  details,  which 
might  have  grown  more  than  a  little  tedious  before  I  had  done  with 
them,  I  have  preferred  to  pursue  some  research  into  the  origins  of 
musical  taste  in  France,  and  to  trace  the  drift  and  direction  of  that 
revolution  now  in  progress  in  the  field  of  entertainment  which  is  the 
subject  of  this  study.1 

1  Were  it  not  for  the  tyranny  of  certain  professional  literary  autocrats,  this 
aesthetic  revolution  would  advance  both  faster  and  more  effectively;  but,  since 
we  are  doomed  to  suffer  the  burden  of  an  Academic  Francaise,  let  our  estimate  of 
this  institution  be  neither  higher  nor  lower  than  it  deserves.  lit  us  try  to  control 
our  natural  exasperation  at  the  pig-headed  opposition  of  certain  learned  Doctors, 
who  claim  to  speak  with  superior  authority  ;f  and  if  our  opponents  should  chance 
to  be  a  shade  pedantic,  let  us  look  to  it  that  we  do  not  ourselves  become  outre  I 

f  Quoted  verbatim  from  the  Journal  des  Debats  in  its  account  of  the  elegant 
insults  levelled  at  the  Romantics  by  the  celebrated  M.  de  Villemain,  I  forget 
whether  at  the  beginning  or  at  the  end  of  his  course  of  lectures. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 
Otello* 

T 

JLHE  THEME  of  serious  love*  is  as  foreign  to  Rossini  as  it  is  to 
Walter  Scott;  and  indeed,  when  one  knows  nothing  of  love  as  a 
passion  except  through  what  one  has  read  in  books  (Werther, 
perhaps,  or  the  Nouvelle  Helo'ise),  it  is  no  easy  task  to  paint  a  success 
ful  portrait  of  jealousy.  It  is  necessary  to  have  loved  as  implacably  as 
la  Religieuse  portugaise,  and  with  all  the  unquenchable  ardour  of 
which  she  has  left  us  so  vivid  an  echo  in  her  immortal  Letters,  if  one 
is  to  have  any  understanding  of  the  kind  of  jealousy  which  is  powerful 
enough  to  move  an  audience  in  a  theatre.  In  Shakespeare's  tragedy,  we 
are  made  to  feel  that  Othello  cannot  go  on  living  when  once  he  has 
killed  Desdemona.  Even  if  we  imagine  that  the  sombre  lago  were  to 
have  perished  in  some  hazard  of  war,  at  the  very  same  moment  as 
Desdemona  herself,  and  that  Othello  were  thus  doomed  for  ever  to 
believe  in  Desdemona*  s  guilt — even  so,  life  could  have  held  no  more 
savour  in  his  eyes  (if  I  may  indulge  a  taste  for  mixed  metaphor, 
a  ritalienne);  Desdemona  dead,  why  should  Othello  live? 

I  trust,  dear  Reader,  that  you  will  agree  with  me  when  I  affirm  that, 
if  the  passion  of  jealousy  is  to  be  effectively  conveyed  through  the 
medium  of  art,  it  must  first  be  rooted  in  a  soul  possessed  of  a  love  as 
desperate  as  that  of  Werther  himself— of  a  love  which  may  be 
sanctified  by  self-inflicted  death.  Any  love  which  fails  to  rise  to  this 
degree  of  intensity  has,  in  my  opinion,  no  right  to  be  jealous;  where 
love  is  tepid,  jealousy  is  a  mere  impertinence. 

Love  which  is  not  passionate,  but  simply  fancy  or  infatuation,  can 
contribute  nothing  to  art  save  an  atmosphere  of  hilarity  and  general 
merriment.  The  kind  of  jealousy  which  often  accompanies  love  of 
this  "secondary"  quality  may  indeed  be  just  as  violent  as  a  jealousy 
with  very  different  origins;  yet  it  cannot  touch  the  artistic  sensibility. 
Its  characteristic  feature  is  vanity;  and  jealousy  of  this  category  is 
invariably  farcical  (like  the  infatuated  dotards  in  the  old  comedies) — 
unless  the  sufferer  happens  to  be  a  personage  of  autocratic  rank  and 


OTELLO  207 

power,  in  which  case  wounded  vanity  must  be  appeased  by  blood, 
and  usually  receives  its  satisfaction  soon  enough.  But  in  all  the  world, 
there  is  nothing  more  abominable,  nor  more  revolting,  than  blood 
shed  out  of  vanity;  and  our  minds  turn  immediately  to  the  calendar 
of  crimes  committed  by  Nero,  by  Philip  II,  and  by  all  the  other 
monsters  who  have  worn  crowns  and  sat  on  thrones. 

Before  we  may  be  truly  stirred  by  the  tragedy  of  Othello,  before 
we  may  judge  him  worthy  to  kill  Desdemona,  one  thing  is  essential: 
not  a  shadow  of  doubt  must  remain  in  our  mind  (or  in  that  of  any 
other  spectator  who  should  chance  to  consider  the  question)  that, 
should  Othello  remain  alone  in  the  world  after  the  death  of  his  lover, 
he  must  necessarily  and  immediately  strike  himself  with  the  same 
dagger.  Unless  I  find  this  conviction  firmly  rooted  in  the  bottom  of 
my  heart,  Othello  becomes  indistinguishable  from  somebody  like 
King  Henry  VIII,  who,  having  chopped  off  the  head  of  one  of  his 
wives,  in  accordance  with  the  most  just  and  lawful  sentence  delivered 
by  the  Courts  of  the  time,  feels  nothing  but  intense  relief;  he  would 
be  the  moral  equivalent  of  one  of  our  modern  "dandies',*  who  think 
it  the  merriest  sport  to  stand  by  and  laugh  while  some  woman  who 
adores  them  dies  of  grief. 

This  prophetic  vision  of  Othello's  death,  which  is  not  only  a  moral 
necessity,  but  the  absolute  condition  upon  which  our  sympathy  in 
the  tragedy  depends,  is  entirely  absent  in  Rossini's  Otello.  This 
Othello  is  too  patently  shallow  to  convince  me  beyond  reasonable 
doubt  that  it  is  not  simply  vanity  which  makes  him  seize  the  dagger. 
And  once  this  uncertainty  is  allowed  for  an  instant  to  take  root,  the 
whole  theme,  which  is  perhaps  richer  in  emotional  implications  than 
any  other  conception  springing  from  the  fundamental  phenomenon 
of  love,  is  liable  to  degenerate  with  appalling  rapidity  into  some 
insignificant  and  sordid  little  trifle  borrowed  from  the  Tales  of 
Bluebeard. 

However,  I  should  imagine  that  any  considerations  such  as  those 
which  I  have  just  been  analysing  would  have  appeared  supremely 
ridiculous  to  the  unmentionable  literary  hack*  who  prepared  the 
Italian  libretto  which  Rossini  was  expected  to  use;  his  job  was  to 
turn  out  seven  or  eight  neatly-contrived  scenes,  all  vaguely  related  to 
Shakespeare's  tragedy,  and  all  competently  equipped  with  sufficient 
plain  narrative  to  make  sure  that  the  public  understood  what  was 


208  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

meant  to  be  happening  on  the  stage.  Moreover,  out  of  the  total  of 
eight  scenes,  not  more  than  two  or  three  could  safely  have  rage  as  the 
dominant  motif,  for  music  does  not  possess  the  power  to  express  fury 
for  any  length  of  time  without  degenerating  into  unrelieved  monotony. 

In  Shakespeare's  version  of  Othello,  the  first  scene  shows  us  lago, 
accompanied  by  Roderigo,  the  rejected  suitor  of  Desdemona,  on  his 
way  to  rouse  the  Senator  Barbarigo1  and  to  warn  him  that  Othello 
has  abducted  his  daughter.  This  situation  holds  potential  material 
for  a  chorus. 

The  second  scene  shows  us  Othello  himself,  who,  in  an  attempt  to 
justify  his  love  in  the  eyes  of  his  old  comrade-in-arms,  lago,  is 
unwise  enough  to  betray  the  real  extent  of  his  passion.  Here  we  have 
potential  material  for  an  aria  by  Othello. 

The  third  scene  shows  us  Othello  telling  the  "plain,  unvarnished 
tale"  of  his  love  before  the  assembled  members  of  the  Senate  of 
Venice,  before  whom  he  is  summoned  to  answer  a  charge  of  abduc 
tion.  It  was  a  stroke  of  genius  on  the  part  of  the  poet  to  have  created 
a  situation  where  a  narrative  episode  of  this  character,  which  is 
always  so  delicate  to  handle  and  lends  itself  so  easily  to  absurdity, 
becomes  in  point  of  fact  a  dramatic  necessity.  Othello  is  accused  of 
witchcraft;  his  Moorish  origin,  the  darkness  of  his  skin,  the  super 
stitions  of  the  XVIth  century — everything  conspires  to  lend  an  air  of 
plausibility  to  the  accusation  which  is  brought  against  him  by  old 
Barbarigo  the  Senator,  Desdemona' s  father.  In  his  defence,  Othello 
tells  of  the  simple  means  which  he  used  to  win  the  heart  of  his  young 
bride;  how  he  ran  through  the  story  of  his  life  from  year  to  year, 
filled  with  "the  most  disastrous  chances"  and  "moving  accidents". 
At  last,  one  of  the  Senators2  exclaims:  "I  think  this  tale  would  win 
my  daughter  too."  Desdemona  then  enters,  summoned  at  her 
father's  insistence;  and  there,  before  the  whole  Assembly,  this  timid 
maiden,  no  longer  obedient  to  the  voice  of  her  own  father,  throws 
herself  into  Othello's  arms;  at  which,  the  aged  Senator,  in  a  fit  of 
passion,  cries  out: 

Look  to  her  Moor,  have  a  quick  eye  to  see: 
She  has  deceived  her  father,  may  do  thee. 

(I.  iii.  293-4) 

1  Brabantio  in  Shakespeare's  text.  (Trans.) 

2  The  Duke  of  Venice  in  Shakespeare's  text  (I.  iii.  172).  (Trans.) 


OTELLO  209 

This,  I  feel,  provides  admirable  material  for  a  quintet;  it  is  rich  in 
varied  emotional  elements,  including  the  passions  of  love,  anger  and 
revenge;  it  follows  a  marked  line  of  dramatic  development;  it  pro 
vides  for  a  chorus  of  Senators  desperately  moved  by  this  strange 
scene  which  has  come  to  trouble  their  midnight  deliberations— and 
nothing  of  all  this  which  the  spectator  cannot  grasp  and  appreciate 
directly. 

Here,  then,  we  have  three  consecutive  scenes,  all  of  which  gradu 
ally  build  up  a  portrait  of  an  Othello  obsessed  by  love,  while  at  the 
same  time  they  capture  our  interest  in  the  quality  of  this  love,  by 
telling  us  in  detail  how,  despite  the  copper-colour  of  his  skin,  he  was 
able  to  win  the  heart  of  Desdemona — information  which  is  more 
than  necessary,  for,  once  we  see  him  as  a  lover  deliberately  preferred 
above  all  other  rivals,  his  physical  disabilities  cease  to  be  of  any  im 
portance.  If  such  a  man  should  murder  his  beloved,  it  is  inconceivable 
that  the  cause  should  be  mere  vanity;  and  so  this  disastrous  suspic 
ion  is  for  ever  banished  from  the  picture.  And  what,  may  we  be  so 
bold  as  to  enquire,  did  our  Italian  librettist  invent  as  a  substitute  for 
the  perfection  of  this  scene  where  Othello,  in  our  very  presence, 
recounts  the  history  of  his  love?  A  "triumphant  entry  of  a  victorious 
general" ! — an  inspiration  so  new,  so  original,  that,  for  a  whole  cen 
tury  and  a  half,  it  has  furnished  the  gala-attraction  of  every  single 
Grand  Opera  ever  committed  in  France,  and  made  dazzled  prov 
incials  gape  with  astonishment  and  admiration! 

This  "triumphal  entry"  is  followed  by  a  recitative  and  a  full-scale 
aria, 

Ah!  siy  per  voi gia  sento  ..}• 

— a  positively  supreme  blunder,  whose  immediate  consequence  is  to 
give  us,  right  from  the  very  outset,  a  picture  of  an  Othello  filled  with 
pride  and  superb  disdain  for  the  enemy  whom  he  has  vanquished. 
And  let  me  repeat,  that  aproi/rf-hearted  Othello  is  the  very  last  con 
ception  in  all  the  world  which  should  be  foisted  upon  the  audience  at 
this  particular  moment! 

Following  upon  an  initial  howler  of  such  devastating  magnitude, 
involving  the  meticulous  selection  of  that  particular  platitude  which 
is  best  calculated  to  make  specific  nonsense  of  the  whole  plot,  the  less 
1  Ah!  Yes,  for  you  I  already  feel ... 


210  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

said  about  the  rest  of  the  libretto,  the  better.  It  would  have  needed 
every  scrap  of  genius  which  Rossini  possessed  to  save  the  opera,  not 
merely  from  the  banality  of  the  text  (for  nothing  is  more  normal),  but 
from  the  illogicalities  of  the  plot,  which  set  another,  and  far  thornier 
problem. 

To  perform  such  a  miracle,  Rossini  would  have  had  to  master 
certain  specific  qualities  which,  in  all  probability,  he  simply  does  not 
possess  at  all.  I  confess  myself  obsessed  by  the  overwhelming  suspic 
ion  that  Rossini  himself  has  never  known  what  it  means  to  love  some 
one  to  the  pitch  of  absurdity.  Ever  since  it  has  become  fashionable  in 
High  Society  to  have  Grand  Passions,1  and  owing  to  the  corollary, 
that  it  is  every  man's  ambition  to  behave  "like  High  Society",  I  have 
been  finding  myself  increasingly  reluctant  to  believe  in  the  genuine 
ness  of  any  Grand  Passion,  until  it  has  given  proofs  of  its  sincerity 
and  good  faith  by  inducing  the  victim  to  make  himself  ridiculous. 

Poor  Mozart,  for  instance,  spent  the  greater  part  of  his  life — a  life, 
it  is  true,  which  ended  before  he  was  six-and-thirty — in  perpetual  and 
imminent  danger  of  plunging  into  this  abysmal  heresy  of  ridicule. 
Even  in  the  Marriage  of  Figaro,  which  is  the  most  light-hearted  of  all 
his  operas,  he  cannot  so  much  as  glance  at  the  subject  of  jealousy 
without  making  it  sombre  and  deeply-moving;  think,  for  example,  of 
the  aria: 

Vedro,  mentf  io  sospiro, 

Felice  un  servo  mio*!* 
or  of  the  duet: 

Crude! perche finora  ...?3 

In  the  presence  of  this  kind  of  music,  the  audience  is  instantly  and 
instinctively  aware  that,  if  such  jealousy  should  lead  to  a  crime,  the 
fault  must  be  attributed,  not  simply  to  wounded  vanity,  but  to  the 
delirium  of  a  mind  unbalanced,  distraught  by  the  most  intolerable 
anguish  which  the  human  soul  can  experience.  But  Mozart's  char 
acters  speak  a  language  which  is  unknown  to  Rossini,  and  the  whole 
of  Otello  is  barren  of  the  faintest  trace  of  any  such  obsession ;  instead 

1  The  abb6  Girard,  a  most  sharp-witted  observer  of  his  fellow-mortals,  wrote 
in  1746:  "Custom,  which  permits  a  married  woman  to  indulge  in  open  flirtation 
with  her  suitors,  forbids  her  the  least  hint  of  passion;  for,  in  such  circumstances, 
passion  would  be  merely  ridiculous"*  (Synonymes,  article  entitled  Amour). 

2  I  shall  see,  while  I  breathe,  one  of  my  servants  happy! 
a  Why  cruel  until  now  ...? 


OTELLO  211 

of  deep  grief,  we  are  asked  to  accept  mere/wrj — and  to  make  the  best 
of  it  we  can;  again  and  again  we  are  shown  the  injured  vanity  of  a 
creature  who  sways  the  power  of  life  and  death  over  his  victim;  never 
once  the  anguished  and  piteous  misery  of  a  passion  betrayed  by  the 
object  which  it  worships. 

The  librettist  should  laws  given  Othello  two  duets  with  lago.  In  the 
first  of  these,  the  "damn'd  inhuman  dog"  would  have  sown  the  first 
seeds  of  suspicion  in  Othello's  heart,  while  Othello  would  have 
replied  to  the  perfidious  insinuations  of  his  persecutor  by  exalting 
Desdemona  ever  higher  in  the  mystic  enthusiasm  of  his  love. 

Thus  all  the  "sound  and  fury"  would  have  been  reserved  for  the 
duet  in  the  second  act;  and  even  at  this  point,  we  should  have  had 
two  or  three  passages  in  which  Othello  would  have  reverted  to  Ms 
obsessing  adoration.  But  the  librettist  was  a  man  far  too  well-versed 
in  his  academic  theories  to  deign  to  imitate  the  monstrous  imaginings 
of  a  "barbarian"*  like  Shakespeare;  instead,  he  daringly  resorted  to 
our  dear,  familiar  friend,  the  "unaddressed  letter",  which  provides 
the  standard  denouement  in  Voltairian  tragedy — a  platitudinous 
piece  of  confidence-trickery,  which  in  our  own  day  would  scarcely 
serve  to  swindle  a  stock-exchange  speculator  out  of  a  paltry  couple 
of  hundred,  but  which,  for  all  that,  is  assumed  to  be  deep  enough 
to  deceive  men  of  the  calibre  of  Orosmane,  Tancred  and  Othello! 
Moreover,  some  petty  consideration  of  backstairs  patriotism  (which 
earned  him  great  favour  in  Venice),  induced  our  worthy  poet  to 
revert  to  the  original  Italian  legend1  which  had  provided  Shake 
speare  with  the  basic  plot  of  his  tragedy.  However,  all  the  pillaged 
material,  whatever  its  source,  is  handled  with  such  unspeakable 
ineptitude,  that  he  completely  fails  to  suggest  the  faintest  nuance  of 
hesitation,  or  even  to  hint  at  the  last  glowing  sparks  of  love  in 
Othello's  breast;  and  I  fancy  that,  in  all  the  orgy  of  blunders  compos 
ing  this  so-called  libretto  which  Rossini  was  supposed  to  manage, 
none  is  more  fantastic  than  this.  The  feeblest  of  novelettes  making 
the  crudest  of  claims  to  psychological  realism  would  have  furnished 
our  highly-respected  scribbler  (whom  I  have  the  unpardonable 
audacity  to  criticize!)  with  the  information  that  the  average  human 
heart  struggles  more  than  once,  experiences  more  than  one  fleeting 

1  G.  B.  Giraldi  Cinthio,  Cento  Novette,  Part  I,  3rd  Decad,  7th  tale  (ed. 
Venice,  1608,  pp.  313-321), 


212  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

instant  of  doubt  and  hesitation,  before  it  agrees  to  an  eternal  renunci 
ation  of  the  greatest,  the  most  god-like  happiness  which  exists  on 
earth-— the  belief  in  the  untarnished  perfection  of  the  beloved  object. 
One  factor  alone  contrives  to  redeem  Rossini's  Otello,  and  that  is  our 
reminiscences  of  Shakespeare's  Othellol  Shakespeare  created,  in  the 
person  of  Othello,  a  character  who  is  as  true,  as  historically  real.,  as 
Julius  Caesar  or  Themistocles.  The  very  name  of  Othello  is  as  vivid 
a  symbol  of  impassioned  jealousy  as  the  name  of  Alexander  is  sym 
bolic  of  indomitable  courage;  so  much  so,  indeed,  that  if  some 
misguided  writer  were  actually  to  show  us  Alexander  fleeing  in  panic 
before  the  onslaught  of  his  enemies,  we  should  still  refuse  to  think  of 
him  as  a  coward;  we  should  merely  conclude  that  the  writer  did  not 
know  his  job.  Since  the  music  of  Otello  is  admirable  in  every  respect 
bar  one  (dramatic  expression),  we  can  easily  allow  our  imagination  to 
supply  the  one  specific  virtue  which  is  missing;  for  this  faculty  is 
never  so  well-disposed  to  furnish  non-existent  qualities  as  when  it  is 
overwhelmed  by  sudden  admiration  for  a  set  of  qualities  which  do 
exist — a  secret  which  is  perfectly  familiar  to  Italian  actors,  brought 
up  in  the  tradition  of  improvisation.  We  are  so  astounded  to  hear 
verse  declaimed  on  the  spur  of  the  moment  with  the  speed  and  facility 
of  normal  speech  (a  feat  which,  to  us,  appears  quite  incredibly  diffi 
cult),  that  the  resulting  "poetry"  unfailingly  sounds  most  impressive 
while  we  are  actually  listening  to  it;  which  is  not  to  say  that  we  should 
not  find  it  quite  intolerably  flat  on  the  day  following,  if  anyone  should 
have  the  double  impertinence,  firstly  to  write  it  down  at  all,  and 
secondly  to  show  it  to  us ! 

In  Otello,  we  are  so  electrified  by  the  magnificent  musical  quality 
of  the  songs,  so  spellbound,  so  overwhelmed  by  the  incomparable 
beauty  of  the  theme,  that  we  invent  our  own  libretto  to  match. 

In  Italy,  the  performers  themselves  are  usually  so  completely 
dominated  by  the  magic  which  Shakespeare  attached  to  the  fatal 
name  of  Othello,  that,  unconsciously  as  it  were,  traces  of  simple  and 
spontaneous  emotion — features  which  are  only  too  often  missing 
from  Rossini's  music — creep  into  the  interpretation  of  their  recita 
tives.  In  Paris,  the  various  performers  who  have  sung  the  part  of 
Othello  have  all  been  actors  of  too  much  talent  to  quote  as  examples 
of  this  primarily  subconscious  phenomenon  which  results  from  con 
tact  with  the  great  name  of  Othello;  but  I  may  state  with  conviction 


OTELLO  213 

that  I  have  never  yet  heard  an  insignificant  performance  of  Des- 
demona's  recitatives.  There  can  scarcely  be  a  single  music-lover  in 
the  whole  of  Paris  who  could  forget  Madame  Pasta's  entry  on  the 
line 

Mura  infelici  ogni  di  mi  aggiro!1 

and  the  desperate  simplicity  in  the  inflection  of  her  voice.  Given 
actors  of  such  outstanding  ability,  the  illusion  of  beauty  is  not  diffi 
cult  to  catch,  nor  is  it  long  before  we  are  sincerely  convinced  that  this 
score,  which  is  indeed  almost  overpowering  in  its  torrential  impetu 
osity  and  a  masterpiece  in  the  "grand  manner"2,  is  also  deeply 
emotional,  and  carries  with  it  that  sense  of  fatality,  that  mark  of 
impending  disaster,  which  impelled  Virgil  to  write  of  Dido,  that  she 
had  the  pallor  of  death  that  was  to  be* 

If  we  insist  on  looking  for  love  in  Rossini's  works,  we  should  be 
well-advised  to  turn  to  his  earliest  composition,  Demetrio  e  Polibio 
(1809*);  for  by  the  time  of  Otetto  (1816),  Rossini  has  forgotten  the 
haunting  echoes  of  real  love,  except,  perhaps,  in  the  scoring  which 
surrounds  the  part  of  Desdemona,  and  in  particular  in  the  charming 
duet, 

Vorrei  che  il  tuo pensiero  ...;4 

for  I  must  repeat  (at  the  risk  of  sounding  not  merely  boring,  but 
utterly  paradoxical)  that,  in  general,  the  tone  of  Rossini's  Willow 
Song  is  one  of  despair  rather  than  of  sincere  and  moving  tenderness. 
Ask  any  lady  with  some  experience  in  the  gentle  art  of  courtship 
which  of  the  two  moods  is  harder  to  portray! 

Signer  Caraifa,  who,  as  a  composer,  is  not  in  the  same  class  as 
Rossini,  has  nevertheless  written  &  farewell  aria,5  which  is  used  at  the 
end  of  the  first  act  of  Vigano's  ballet,  les  Titans,  and  which  immedi 
ately  creates  an  atmosphere  of  tender  sympathy  in  the  highest  degree. 

1  Every  day  I  wander  about  these  unhappy  walls  I 

2  TTie  paintings  of  Paul  Veronese  (e.g.  Venice  Triumphant)  are  likewise  master 
pieces  in  the  grand  manner — a  manner  which  certainly  has  a  more  immediate  and 
popular  appeal  than  the  style  of  Raphael;  yet,  in  the  end,  if  we  seek  an  artist  who 
can  give  us  a  natural  portrait  of  the  passions,  it  is  to  the  halls  of  the  Vatican  that 
we  must  ever  return. 

8  Pattida  morte  futura.  4  I  could  wish  that  your  thoughts  ... 

5  This  aria  actually  belongs  to  the  opera  Gabriele  di  Vergy,  which  is  one  of 
Caraffa's  best  works.  It  comes  out  of  the  duet: 

O  istante  felicel  f 

t  O  happy  moment! 


214  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

If  only  Othello,  bidding  adieu  to  Desdemona  after  some  secret  meet 
ing  fraught  with  danger  and  difficulty,  had  a  similar  duet  somewhere 
in  the  first  act,  the  whole  audience  would  be  moved  to  tears;  and  this 
instant  of  tenderness  and  love  would  be  all  the  more  heart-breaking, 
since  no  one  in  the  entire  house  could  fail  to  be  aware  of  the  kind  of 
death  which  is  ultimately  reserved  for  poor  Desdemona.  As  it  is, 
however,  Othello's  rages  seem  to  betray  nothing  save  congenital  bad- 
temper — and,  what  is  worse  still,  bad-temper  springing  from 
wounded  vanity. 


CHAPTER  XIX 
Otello  (continued) 

ACT  ONE 

JL  HE  main  theme  and  the  crescendo  of  the  overture  are  brilliant 
rather  than  tragic;  the  allegro  is  extremely  vivacious. 

I  approve  most  highly  of  this  emotional  device  at  the  very  opening 
of  so  tragic  a  tale;  for  what  interests  me  is  the  development  which 
takes  place  within  the  soul  of  Othello,  who,  as  we  watch  him  escaping 
with  his  beloved  at  the  beginning  of  the  first  act,  stands  upright  on 
the  highest  peak  of  happiness,  only  to  sink,  in  the  last  act,  to  the 
uttermost  degradation  of  murder,  and  to  become  a  symbol  of  the 
accumulated  misery  of  the  whole  race  of  man.  Such  a  contrast  is 
sublime,  because  it  is  in  the  very  nature  of  things,  and  because  there 
is  no  truly  passionate  lover  in  all  the  earth  whose  soul  is  completely 
free  of  the  fear  of  such  a  fate;  but,  I  insist,  to  interpret  this  contrast  in 
terms  of  opera,  it  was  essential  that  the  work  should  open  on  a  note 
of  joyous  delight,  portraying  in  the  most  vivid  and  striking  fashion 
imaginable  the  supreme  happiness  of  Othello,  and  the  devotion  and 
tenderness  of  his  love.  If  we  accept  this  pattern  of  emotional  develop 
ment,  the  raging  would  be  confined  to  the  end  of  Act  II,  while,  in 
Act  III,  when  the  die  is  already  cast,  Othello  should  proceed  grimly 
with  his  predestined  sacrifice.1 

The  solo  clarinet  passage*,  which  occurs  in  the  overture,  suggests  a 
mood  of  heart-rending  pity,  quite  distinct  from  the  kind  of  "pity" 
which  is  inspired  by  commonplace  misadventures,  and  which  is  the 
normal  reaction  produced  by  the  average  contemporary  sentimental 
drama  (assuming  that  it  produces  any  reaction  at  all!).  This  passage 
is  instinct  with  fine  and  delicate  spirituality. 

1  Cf.  the  admirable  manner  in  which  the  last  act  was  played  by  Kean,  and  the 
unfathomable  depths  of  love  revealed  in  Othello's  exclamation:  Amen!  Amen! 
With  all  my  soulj  when  he  listens  to  Desdemona's  prayer.  The  English,  in  my 
opinion,  are  unrivalled  in  two  spheres  of  art:  dramatic  declamation  and  land 
scape  gardening. 

t  Original  text:  Amen,  with  all  my  heart!  (Trans.) 


216  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

Again,  it  is  delicacy  and  spiritual  grace  rather  than  majesty  and 
grandeur  which,  to  my  mind,  characterize  the  opening  chorus : 

Viva  Otello,  viva  ilprode!1 

the  music  of  which  is  sparkling  and  infinitely  ingenious. 
When  Othello  steps  forward,  on  the  words 

Vincemmo,  o  padri!* 

his  recitative  is  half-shadowed  with  hints  of  sadness  in  the  accompani 
ment.  At  the  very  instant  when  the  melodic  line  of  the  song  rises  in 
triumph,  the  accompaniment  is  muttering:  You  are  to  die!  For 
Rossini,  having  once  resigned  himself  to  the  grim  duty  of  following 
the  non-sequiturs  of  the  libretto.,  was  obliged  to  abandon  any  ideas  he 
may  have  had  about  depicting  the  initial  state  of  happiness  which 
surrounded  Othello,  and  was  required  to  suggest  cadences  of  melan 
choly  from  the  very  moment  of  the  first  aria: 

Ah!  si,  per  voi  gid  sento  . .  .8 

Nozzari,  who  sang  the  part  of  Othello,  which  Rossini  had  originally 
composed  for  Garcia,  achieved  a  rare  felicity  of  expression  in  suggest 
ing  the  nuance  of  sadness  which  dwells  in  the  lines : 

Deh!  amor  dirada  il  nembo 
Cagion  di  tanti  affannil** 

His  magnificent  stature,  which  could  convey  so  stirringly  an  impres 
sion  of  grandeur  tinged  with  melancholy,  was  extremely  valuable  to 
him  in  expressing  certain  aspects  of  the  part,  and  in  interpreting  con 
ceptions  of  which  the  librettist  had  probably  never  dreamed.  I  well 
remember  the  astonishment  with  which  the  Neapolitan  audiences 
reacted  to  the  pure  beauty  of  his  gestures,  and  to  the  general  impres 
sion  of  rare  and  graceful  majesty  which  was  characteristic  of  Nozzari 
in  the  part;  incidentally,  the  style  of  his  acting  on  this  occasion  was 
quite  outside  his  usual  repertoire.  It  may  perhaps  be  claimed  that 
any  part  which  portrays  extremes  of  emotion  is  relatively  easy  to 
act.  The  role  of  the  Father,  for  instance,  in  Paer's  opera  Agnese  is 
always  excellently  played;  and  at  this  very  moment,  in  Paris,  it  is  not 

1  Long  live  Othello!  Long  live  the  noble  warrior  1 

9  We  have  conquered,  O  Fathers!  s  Ah!  Yes,  for  you  I  already  feel ... 

4  For  mercy's  sake!  Love  disperses  the  cloud  which  is  cause  of  so  much  trial 
and  tribulation... 


OTELLO 


217 


difficult  to  enumerate  at  least  seven  or  eight  competent  actors 
(I  might  name  MM.  Perlet,  Lepeintre,  Samson,  Monrose,  Bernard- 
Leon,  etc.)  who,  let  it  be  observed,  are  all  magnificent  in  "heavy" 
parts ;  whereas  I  cannot  recall  ever  having  seen  on  any  stage  a  compe 
tent  straight  jeune premier  who  can  play  the  standard  "young  lover". 
Yet  few  of  us  have  actual  experience  of  extreme  emotions,  whether 
tragic  or  farcical;  whereas  we  meet  young  lovers  every  day. 

There  is  plenty  of  fire  in  the  duet  between  the  sombre  lago  and  the 
"young  quat",  Roderigo: 

No,  non  temer:  serena  il  mesto  ciglio, 
Fidati  air  amista,  scorda  ilperiglio  ....* 

Incidentally,  however,  there  is  one  thing  of  which  I  am  completely 
convinced;  and  that  is,  that  whoever  the  young  composer  may  be 
who  is  ultimately  destined  to  eclipse  Rossini,  the  great  secret  of  his 
triumph  will  be  found  to  lie  in  the  simplicity  of  his  style,  and  in  the 
sincerity  and  completeness  of  his  revolt  against  the  complex*.  If  you 
are  going  to  use  your  orchestra  so  violently  and  so  rowdily  in  a  simple 
duet  between  two  minor  characters,  who,  to  make  matters  worse, 
show  not  the  slightest  inclination  to  be  quarrelsome,  what  can  you 
hope  to  have  left  for  Othello's  raging  and  for  the  great  dialogues  with 
lago? 

The  most  outstanding  quality  of  this  score  of  Rossini's,  which  is 
unquestionably  his  finest  achievement  in  the  heavy  Germanic  style, 
is  its  fiery  urgency:  "volcanic"  was  the  term  which  was  popular  at 
the  San-Carlo  theatre.  But  the  disadvantage  is  that  there  is  always  a 
certain  sameness  about  dynamic  violence  of  this  kind;  shades  and 
nuances  of  expression  are  swallowed  up  in  the  general  welter  of 
noise ;  we  miss  the  middle  road  between  grave  and  gay,  the  transitions 
from  joyous  daylight  to  severe  darkness;  the  listener  is  condemned  to 
live  in  constant  intimacy  with  the  trombones.  And  there  is  another 
factor  which  aggravates  the  monotony  of  this  "violent"  style,  uni 
versally  revered  by  our  musical  philistines  as  the  very  perfection  of 
perfection:  the  absence  of  standard  recitatives.  In  Otello,  all  recita 
tives,  without  exception,  are  reinforced  with  full  orchestral  accom 
paniments,  as  is  the  habit  in  French  grand  opera.  But  this  device 

1  No!  Do  not  be  afraid!  Let  your  troubled  brow  grow  serene!  Trust  in  friend 
ship,  and  forget  the  danger  I 


218  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

implies  a  waste  of  emotional  reinforcements  which  should  have  been 
held  in  reserve  until  the  final  act.  Vigano*  displayed  far  truer  inspira 
tion  in  his  ballet  Otelh*,  when  he  had  the  superb  impertinence  to  use 
a  simple  forlana1  in  the  opening  scene.  In  the  second  act,  moreover, 
Vigano  had  the  intelligence  to  insert  a  major  scene  in  a  calm  and 
dignified  key,  a  scene  where  Othello  holds  a  revel  by  night  in  his 
garden,  in  the  course  of  which  the  first  seeds  of  jealousy  are  implanted 
in  his  soul.  In  consequence,  by  the  time  we  reached  the  concluding 
scenes  of  Vigano's  ballet,  we  were  not  surfeited  with  ranting  and 
terror;  and  soon  the  whole  audience  was  moved  to  tears.  But  I  have 
rarely  seen  anybody  similarly  moved  at  Rossini's  Otello. 

In  the  version  of  Otello  which  was  specially  arranged  for  the  Paris 
production,  Madame  Pasta's*  magnificent  rendering  of  her  recitative : 

Mura  infelici  ogni  dl  m'aggiro  ...2 

to  some  extent  redeemed  the  utter  idiocy  of  the  libretto  at  this  point, 
and  rescued  Rossini  from  the  pitfalls  into  which  he  had  been  lured 
by  its  ineptitudes.  But  the  credit  for  this  achievement  rests  exclusively 
with  Madame  Pasta  herself;  for  the  same  recitative,  declaimed  by 
some  northern  singer,  no  matter  how  celebrated  (e.g.  Madame 
Mainvielle),  might  well  pass  completely  unnoticed,  and  would  no 
longer  contribute  that  delicate  suggestion  of  gentle,  sighing  melan 
choly,  the  absence  of  which,  in  my  opinion,  so  cruelly  weakens 
Rossini's  score.  Madame  Pasta  contrives  a  subtlety  of  embellishment 
which  is  beyond  praise;  with  the  result  that  the  audience  applauds  her 
even  more  warmly  in  the  recitative  than  in  its  continuation,  the  arid 

O  quante  lagrtme 
Finor  versai  ...,3 

which  the  arrangers  have  borrowed  from  la  Donna  del  Lago,  and 
which  was  originally  composed  by  Rossini  for  the  superb  contralto 
voice  of  Signorina  Pisaroni.  I  cannot  find  words  eloquent  enough  to 

1  A  kind  of  lively  dance,  traditional  in  the  district  of  Friuli;  the  gaiety  of  the 
main  section,  however,  is  counterbalanced  by  the  extreme  melancholy  of  the  sub 
sidiary  section.  Vigand  was  a  pure  genius,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  his  reputation 
never  went  beyond  the  borders  of  Lombardy,  where  he  died  in  1821,  after  having 
created  the  ballets  Otello,  Myrrha,  la  Vestak,  gli  Uomini  diPrometeo,  etc.,  etc. 

*  Every  day  I  wander  about  these  unhappy  walls  I 

3  O,  how  many  tears  have  I  wept  until  now  ... 


OTELLO  219 

describe  the  effectiveness  of  Madame  Pasta's  style,  as  she  declaims 
the  following  lines : 

Ogrf  altro  oggetto 

£  a  mefunesto, 

Tutto  e  imperfetto, 

Tutto  detesto.1 

O  happy,  beautiful  language  of  Italy,  in  which  such  words  as  these 
may  be  spoken  without  fear  of  extravagance  or  risk  of  absurdity! 
And  yet  these  words  do  convey,  without  extravagance  and  with  a 
maximum  of  straightforward  simplicity,  a  specific  nuance  of  sensi 
bility,  an  epoch  of  feeling  (if  I  may  so  express  myself),  which  invari 
ably  accompanies  the  deepest  manifestations  of  love.  In  itself,  the 
aria  is  magnificent;  yet,  personally,  I  find  it  too  intense,  too  severe  in 
its  melancholy.  The  opera  as  a  whole  would  have  created  a  deeper 
impression  if  Madame  Pasta  had  selected,  at  this  point,  an  aria  whose 
dominant  note  was  tender  love;  something  less  harsh  and  perhaps 
more  moving.  It  may  be,  however,  that  the  "arrangers"  were  more 
concerned  to  forestall  the  accusation  that  the  opera  lacked  variety; 
for  the  ideal  characteristics  which  I  have  just  enumerated  are  pre 
cisely  those  which  Rossini  was  to  give  to  the  delightful  duet; 

Vorrei  che  il  tuo  pensiero  . .  .2 

whose  opening  bars,  unheralded  by  the  usual  ritornello  introduction, 
are  a  stroke  of  genius.  This  duet,  on  the  rare  and  fortunate  occasions 
when  it  is  properly  performed,  has  always  struck  me  as  the  finest 
thing  in  the  whole  opera.  Stylistically,  its  purity  and  simplicity  are 
reminiscent  of  the  Rossini  who  was  the  composer  of  Tancredi;  yet 
there  is  more  fire,  more  boldness  in  the  line  of  the  cantilena  than 
could  have  been  expected  in  the  earlier  work.  Unfortunately,  I  have 
never  heard  it  performed  to  its  best  advantage  on  the  actual  stage. 
This  very  winter,  however,  by  a  fortunate  accident,  I  was  privileged 
to  hear  it  sung  once  to  absolute  perfection,  in  the  intimacy  of  a  salon 
in  Paris;  the  singers,  let  me  hasten  to  add,  were  both  French,  and 
their  rendering  had  all  the  technical  mastery  of  a  Signora  Barilli, 

1  Every  other  object  is  distressful  to  me;  all  is  imperfect,  all  is  detestable ! 

There  is  such  fire,  such  a  world  of  suppressed  emotion  in  Madame  Pasta's  utter 
ance  of  the  word  detesto,  which  she  gives  on  the  lowest  note  of  all  her  superb 
range,  that  the  echo  of  it  reverberates  in  every  heart. 

2  I  could  wish  that  your  thoughts  ... 


220  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

with,  perhaps,  a  certain  additional  warmth  of  feeling  which  this 
great  artist  sometimes  failed  to  achieve. 

There  are  further  entrancing  reminiscences  ofTancredi,  with  all  its 
ardent  youth  and  brilliant  stylistic  freshness,  in  the  chorus: 

Santo  imen,  te  guidi  amore!1 

which  seems  to  combine  the  gentle  enchantment  of  dawning  genius 
with  a  new  and  vigorous  masculinity  which  the  composer  had  not 
dared  display  in  Tancredi  or  in  Demetrio  e  Polibio.  Given  a  good  set 
of  voices,  this  chorus  is  one  of  the  finest  of  all  works  which  can  be 
selected  for  concert-performance;  and  incidentally,  it  is  also  an 
example  of  the  perfection  which  may  result  from  an  exact  balance 
exquisitely  maintained  between  German-style  orchestral  harmony  on 
the  one  hand,  and  the  melodic  genius  of  fair  Parthenope2*  on  the 
other. 
The  finale  which  follows, 

Nel cuor  d'un  padre  amante  ...,3 

is  usually  acclaimed  as  one  of  Rossini's  most  masterly  achievements ; 
and  it  may  safely  be  asserted  that  there  is  not  a  single  one  among  all 
the  great  man's  rivals  who  could  have  even  approached  such  musical 
eminence.  In  Paris,  however,  it  has  never  been  heard  in  any  perform 
ance  as  accomplished  as  that  which  was  given  at  the  San-Carlo  in 
Naples,  when  Davide  played  Roderigo,  and  Benedetti,  who  was  a 
magnificent  basso,  sang  Desdemona's  father.  It  is  not  that  the  voice  of 
M.  Levasseur,  which  was  heard  in  Paris,  is  basically  unsound  in  any 
way;  but  the  actor  himself  is  hesitant  and  uncertain. 
Davide  reached  heights  beyond  praise  in  the  passage: 

Confusa  e  Falma  mia  ...,4 

and  in  all  the  subsequent  part  of  the  finale.5  Despite  the  sublime 
inanity  of  the  text,  he  was  nothing  less  than  divine  in 

1  Holy  Hymen,  may  love  be  your  guide! 

a tenet  nunc 

Parthenope. 

Virgil. 

8  In  me  heart  of  a  loving  father  ...  *  My  spirit  is  confused  ... 

&  Unfortunately,  a  very  slight  deterioration  in  health,  even  in  the  case  of  so 
eminent  an  artist,  may  easily  render  all  these  comments  horribly  inapt.  I  am  refer 
ring  to  Davide  as  he  was  in  1816  and  1817,  and  I  must  beg  the  reader  to  apply  a 
similar  qualification  to  all  comments  concerning  the  relative  merits  of  this  voice 
or  that  which  may  be  found  throughout  this  biography. 


OTELLO  221 

Ti  parli  Pamore, 
Non  essermi  infida/1 

This  trio  between  Signorina  Colbran,  Davide  and  Benedetti  has 
qualities  enough  to  satisfy  the  most  exacting  of  dilettanti  Whole 
years  may  pass  by,  even  in  the  most  eminent  theatres,  before  one 
may  hear  a  passage  sung  with  such  unparalleled  beauty  in  effect  In 
Paris,  for  instance,  where  we  have  at  different  times  heard  both  Galli 
and  Madame  Pasta,  the  only  time  these  great  artists  have  ever 
appeared  together  was  in  Paer's  Camilla. 

Othello's  entry  is  superb.  Here,  at  long  last,  the  librettist  has  con 
trived  a  situation  which  has  all  the  characteristics  of  good  opera;  and 
it  must  be  generally  agreed  that  Rossini  could  scarcely  have  treated 
it  with  a  more  effective  display  of  pure  fireworks.  The  situation  is  one 
to  which  all  the  colour  and  ostentation  of  stylistic  and  harmonic 
splendours  a  la  Mozart  are  ideally  suited;  my  only  objection,  which 
springs  from  my  own  personal  impressions  and  preferences,  is  that 
such  splendours  should  not  have  been  allowed  to  intrude  earlier  into 
the  dramatic  pattern.  In  the  Parisian  version,  Garcia  manages  the 
part  of  Othello  extremely  well;  his  acting  is  full  of  fire  and  fury;  he  is 
most  truly  the  Moor. 

The  contest  between  the  two  tenors,  Nozzari  and  Davide,  was 
beyond  praise,  notably  in  the  dialogue-passage 

RODERIGO:  E  qual  diritto  mat, 
Perfido!  su  quel  core 
Vantar  come  potrai* 
Per  renderlo  infedel? 
OTELLO:    Virtu,  costanza,  amore* 

In  the  cantilena  which  forms  the  setting  of  the  last  three  words, 
Virtu,  costanza,  amore,  Rossini  may  be  hailed  as  a  serious  rival  of 
Mozart;  that  is  to  say,  he  managed  to  scale  the  same  heights  as  the 
great  German  composer  precisely  in  that  field  where  Mozart  himself 
came  nearest  to  perfection.  There  can  be  nothing  finer  in  all  the  art 
of  music,  nor  truer,  nor  more  exact  in  reproducing  the  natural  ring  of 

1  Love  tells  you  not  to  be  unfaithful  to  me  I 

a  Roderigo:  And  whatever  right,  traitor,  may  you  hold  over  that  heart—boast 

as  you  will! — to  make  it  unfaithful  to  me? 
Othello:  Virtue,  constancy,  love! 


222  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

passion,  nor  more  dramatically  effective,  than  this  passage;  but  once 
again,  to  hear  a  performance  barren  of  the  glorious  rivalry  of  some 
Nozzari  and  Davide  striving  to  outdo  each  other  in  perfection, 
goaded  higher  and  ever  higher  in  achievement  by  the  spurs  of  emula 
tion,  is  to  hear  nothing.  As  far  as  Desdemona  is  concerned,  Madame 
Pasta  sings  the  part,  and  above  all  acts  it,  twenty  times  better  than 
Signorina  Colbran.  Her  rendering  of 

&  ver:  giurai,1 
is  quite  supreme. 
Everyone  knows  the  famous 

Impfa,  ti  maledicoP 

— the  very  compass  of  the  art  of  music  has  no  means  to  produce  a 
more  powerful  impression.  Haydn  himself  wrote  nothing  more 
splendid*3 
The  chorus  which  follows, 

Ah!  che  giorno  d'orror!* 

is  most  nobly  conceived;  incidentally,  however,  if  the  unspeakable 
incompetence  of  the  librettist  did  not  defy  every  attempt  to  find  a 
category  low  enough  to  hold  his  so-called  "poetry",  the  musical 
setting  of  the  words : 

Impia,  ti  maledicol 

should  logically  have  accompanied  some  phrase  such  as : 
Out  of  my  sight!  I  do  no  longer  love  thee! 

which  Othello,  blinded  with  rage,  should  have  thundered  at  Des 
demona  as  he  confronts  her  with  the  fatal  handkerchief  which  she 
has  given  to  his  rival  Roderigo,5 

Furthermore,  what  earthly  right  has  the  Senator  Elmiro,  Des- 
demona's  father,®  to  intrude  Ms  vanity  and  bad-temper  into  the 

1  It  is  true:  I  swore  it.  *  Impious  woman  I  My  curse  upon  you! 

s  Rossini  stole  the  inspiration  of  this  passage  from  GeneralFs  opera  Adelina. 

4  Ah!  What  a  day  of  horror! 

5  It  seems  scarcely  necessary  to  point  out  that  the  details  of  the  Marchese 
Berio's  libretto  bear  very  little  resemblance  to  those  of  Shakespeare's  play. 
(Trans.)  * 

8  Given  in  the  previous  chapter  as  Barbarigo;  in  the  original,  Brabantio. 
(Trans.) 


OTELLO  223 

midst  of  such  a  theme?  What  have  these  petty  exasperations  got  to 
do  with  the  emotions  and  the  heart-stirring  conflicts  of  so  terrible  a 
situation,  where  an  impassioned  lover  is  driven  to  a  frenzy  of  cursing 
in  the  face  of  the  woman  he  worships,  and  to  planning  her  eventual 
murder?  There  is  no  lover  on  earth,  whatever  his  present  happiness, 
who  is  entirely  free  from  the  fear  of  a  similar  catastrophe,  or  who,  if 
his  love  is  unadulterated  and  sincere,  can  truly  say  that  he  has  never 
once  glimpsed  it  in  the  distant  dimness  of  the  horizon;  besides,  all 
great  passions  are  fearful  and  superstitious.  This  is  the  supreme 
manifestation  of  dramatic  insight  which  the  imbecile  librettist  has 
chosen  to  fling  away  in  favour  of  the  vanity  and  cantankerous  ravings 
of  an  aged  Senator  filled  with  Cassandra-like  prognostications,  who 
is  mainly  worried  lest  his  daughter  should  marry  below  her  station. 
I  feel  so  strongly  about  this  disastrous  incompetence  that  I  sincerely 
hope  that  one  day  some  charitable  soul  may  devise  a  new  set  of 
words,  which  shall  in  the  end  make  some  sense  out  of  Rossini's 
music. 
The  passage: 

Incerta  Vanima  ..}• 

expresses  with  rare  felicity  the  first  moment  of  respite  after  the 
human  soul  has  passed  through  an  instant  of  indescribable  horror — 
the  respite  which  comes  through  sheer  exhaustion,  through  the 
brutal  impossibility  of  sustaining  emotions  a  moment  longer  at  such 
a  pitch.  In  such  passages,  the  dynamic  qualities  of  Rossini's  genius 
serve  him  admirably.  Mozart,  in  similar  scenes,  tends  now  and  then 
to  miss  a  certain  running  undercurrent  of  vivacity  and  speed. 
Desdemona's  lines: 

Smanio,  deliro  e  tremo  ...2 

provide  a  fitting  conclusion  to  this  magnificent  ,/zmzfe.  I  must  stop 
writing,  stop  eulogizing,  lest  I  be  suspected  of  mere  extravagance. 
The  passage  is  so  exquisite  that  it  defies  praise  and  description  alike. 
Suffice  it  to  mention,  however,  that  despite  the  triumphant  reception 
which  greeted  ibis  finale  at  the  Theatre  Louvois,  we  in  Paris  have  seen 
nothing  but  a  copy,  and  a  pale,  washed-out  copy  at  that,  of  the 
original.  Without  a  Davide  in  the  part  of  Roderigo,  or  a  Father  who, 
1  My  soul  is  uncertain  ...  2  I  am  frantic,  I  rave,  I  tremble  ... 


224  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

in  the  scene  where  Othello  is  arraigned  before  the  assembled  Senators, 
can  sing  with  all  the  unrestraint  of  a  Galli  in  the  second  act  of  la 
Gazza  ladra,  nothing  is  quite  the  same.1 


ACT  TWO 

The  lack  of  a  sufficiently  competent  artist  to  sing  the  part  of 
Roderigo  has  led,  in  the  Paris  version,  to  the  omission  of  the  aria: 

Che  ascolto!  ohimll  die  diet?* 

This  is  a  brilliant  sketch  in  miniature  of  the  dramatic  situation  which 
Corneille  used  and  developed  so  powerfully  in  Polyeucte — the  theme 
of  the  lover,  who,  at  the  climax  of  his  passion,  learns  that  the  woman 
he  adores  is  already  married.  In  this  instance,  Roderigo  received  the 
fateful  news  from  the  lips  of  Desdemona  herself. 
In  the  great  duet  between  Othello  and  lago : 

Non  trfinganno,  almio  male  ...,3 

the  tyrannical  librettist  at  length  relents  sufficiently  to  allow  us  to 
enjoy  at  least  one  of  the  great  situations  implicit  in  so  magnificent  a 
theme.  Here  at  long  last  we  do  see  lago  tempting  the  wretched 
Othello  towards  the  abyss.  The  music  is  good.  There  is  a  great  deal  of 
dramatic  expression,  besides  considerable  dramatic  truth,  in  the 
dialogue: 

JAGO:      Nel  suo  ciglio  il  cor  li  vedo. 

OTELLO:  Ti  son  fida.  ...  Ahimit  che  vedo? 

JAGO:      Quanta  gioja  io  sento  al  cor!* 

At  a  performance  which  I  saw  yesterday  (26th  July,  1823),  and 
which  was  one  of  the  most  entrancing  which  Madame  Pasta  has  ever 

1  Some  scholars  have  maintained  that  the  trio  in  the  Act  I  finale  of  Otetto  is 
modelled  on  a  similar  trio  in  Don  Giovanni,  particularly  with  regard  to  the 
similarity  of  the  clarmet-acxompaniments.  It  is  further  asserted  that  the  orchestral 
accompaniment,  played  while  Othello  reads  the  fatal  letter  which  lago  has  given 
him  (duet,  Act  fl)  is  extracted  from  a  Haydn  symphony  in  Eflat. 

1  What  do  I  hear?  Alas !  What  are  you  saying? 

8  I  do  not  deceive  myself,  to  my  rival ... 

*  lago:  In  your  brows  I  can  read  your  heart, 
Othello:  I  am  faithful  to  you. ...  Alas!  What  do  I  see? 
lago:  How  much  joy  do  I  feel  in  my  heart ! 


OTELLO  225 

given,  the  part  of  lago  did  at  last  receive  a  reasonably  competent 
performance  in  the  hands  of  a  newcomer  to  the  stage,  who  thor 
oughly  deserves  to  be  encouraged  by  the  public;1  he  was  particularly 
excellent  in  the  beautifully  natural  passages  of  the  cantilena: 

Gia  lafiera  gelosia  ....2 

On  the  other  hand,  there  are  no  words  harsh  enough  to  describe  the 
catastrophic  collapse  of  the  trio: 

Ah  vieni,  nel  tuo  sangue  ...,3 

which,  in  Naples,  used  to  be  so  divinely  sung  by  Davide  and  Nozzari. 
Madame  Pasta  alone  has  the  talent  to  carry  off  the  closing  passages 
of  this  fine  trio: 

Tra  tante  smanie  e  tante  ...,4 

Her  acting  in  the  fainting-scene  is  unrivalled  in  its  natural  simplicity, 
and  she  manages  to  bring  real  interest  into  what  is  fundamentally  a 
dramatic  platitude,  a  physical  accident  belonging  probably  to  that 
category  of  phenomena  which  have  been  so  degraded  by  our  modern 
passion  for  cynicism,  that  the  dramatist  is  forced  to  abandon  any 
attempt  to  handle  them  on  the  stage,  leaving  them  to  the  only 
domain  in  which  they  remain  truly  impressive — real  life. 

Desdemona's  aria,  at  the  instant  when  her  waiting-women  come 
in  to  her: 

Qual  nuova  a  me  recate?5 

contains  a  fine  orchestral  passage,  agitato.  This  aria  introduces  a 
tantalizing  instant  of  joyous  happiness,  impressive  by  very  reason  of 
its  contrast  with  the  oppressive  and  threatening  atmosphere  which 
dominates  the  remainder  of  the  second  act: 

Salvo  del  suo  periglio? 
Altro  non  chiede  il  cor  ...,6 

Rossini  rises  magnificently  to  the  height  of  the  occasion,  particularly 
in  the  passage: 

1  Signor  Giovanola,  from  LodL  He  reminded  me  slightly  of  the  incomparable 
Bocci,  who  used  to  dance  lago  in  Vigand's  ballet. 

2  Already  fierce  jealousy  ...  3  Ah!  Come,  in  your  blood  ... 
4  Amidst  so  many  and  so  many  ravings  ...     5  What  news  do  you  bring  me? 
6  Safe  returned  from  his  danger?  My  heart  desires  nothing  more  ... 


226  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

Se  il padre  m'abbandona  .../ 

which,  thanks  to  the  great  artistry  of  Madame  Pasta,  has  become 
famous  throughout  Paris.  This  was  one  of  the  scenes  in  which  I 
became  most  acutely  conscious  of  the  superiority  which  this  fine 
actress  holds  over  her  rival,  Signorina  Colbran. 

Were  we  not  already  acquainted  with  the  curious  workings  of  our 
librettist's  mind,  we  might  at  this  point  reiterate  the  complaint  which 
we  had  recorded  earlier:  "What  the  devil,  Sir,  have  we  to  do  with  the 
Father's  worrying  and  grousing?  You  would  oblige  us  by  remember 
ing  that  the  human  heart  is  not  made  to  hold  more  than  one  all- 
absorbing  passion  at  a  time,  and  therefore  that  it  is  to  her  lover,  half- 
mad  as  he  is  in  his  jealous  obsession,  and  not  to  her  father,  that 
Desdemona,  her  family  lost  and  her  reputation  gone,  must  address 
her  complaint: 

Se  Otello  rrfabbandona, 

Da  chi  sperarpietdl* 


ACT  THREE 

The  plot  of  the  third  act  is  contrived  with  far  greater  skill  than  in 
either  of  the  other  two.  The  succession  of  griefs  which  overwhelm 
poor  Desdemona  is  developed  with  a  reasonable  show  of  compe 
tence.  In  the  still  of  the  night,  she  appears  in  her  chamber;  she 
confesses  to  her  companion  the  anxious  thoughts  which  have 
possessed  her  ever  since  the  news  came  of  her  husband's  banishment 
(for  the  Council  of  Ten  has  newly  pronounced  his  exile  from  the 
State  of  Venice);  a  song  drifts  up  from  the  lagoon,  where  a  passing 
gondolier  sings  these  wonderful  lines  from  Dante: 

Nessun  maggior  dolore 

Che  ricordarsi  del  tempo  felice 

Nella  miseria* 

Unhappy  Desdemona,  beside  herself  with  strange  fears,  crosses  to 

1  If  my  father  abandons  me  . . . 

*  If  Othello  abandons  me,  from  whom  should  I  hope  for  pity? 
3  There  is  no  greater  sorrow  than  to  recall  happy  times  in  times  of  misery 
(Inferno  V.  121-123). 


OTELLO  227 

the  window,  calling  out:  "Who  art  thou,  who  singest  thus?"  But  it  is 
her  companion  who  answers  her  with  these  moving  words: 

-£  il  gondoliere  che  cantando  inganna 
II  cammin  sulla  placida  laguna, 
Pensando  aifiglf,  mentre  Uriel  s'imbmna* 

There  is  a  touch  of  great  charm  in  the  conception  of  this  little  recita 
tive  with  its  accompaniment  on  the  orchestra.  The  gondolier  and  his 
singing  remind  the  ill-starred  Venetian  girl  of  the  fate  of  her  nurse, 
the  faithful  slave  who  was  purchased  in  Africa,  and  who  died  far 
from  her  own  land,  after  watching  over  Desdemona's  childhood. 
Desdemona,  pacing  uncertainly  about  her  room,  comes  by  chance 
upon  her  harp,  which,  on  the  big  stages  of  the  Italian  theatres, 
usually  stands  in  a  permanent  position  on  the  left  of  the  stage,  while 
the  fatal  bed  occupies  the  centre.  Seeing  the  harp,  Desdemona  is 
tempted  to  stop  and  play;  she  sings  the  old  song  which  her  nurse,  the 
African  slave-girl,  had  sung  in  her  childhood: 

Assisa  alpie  d'un  salice  ...2 

The  arrangement  of  the  text  of  this  song  could  hardly  have  been 
better — let  me  say  this  at  once  to  the  honour  of  the  librettist,  the 
marchese  Berio,  a  man  who  is  as  charming  a  companion  in  society  as 
he  is  unfortunate  and  abominable  as  a  poet!  But  the  music  adds  little 
to  Rossini's  reputation.  The  song  is  well-written,  correct,  inoffensive 
...  and  nothing  more.  Any  impression  it  creates  in  performance  (and 
this  is  considerable)  is  due  entirely  to  its  context,  and,  in  Paris  at 
least,  to  the  magnificent  interpretation  of  Madame  Pasta. 

Half-way  through  the  song,  the  ill-fated  Desdemona,  distracted 
with  grief,  forgets  how  the  verse  continues;  and  at  the  same  instant, 
a  violent  gust  of  wind  shatters  a  pane  of  glass  in  the  great  Gothic 
window  of  her  chamber.  This  simple  coincidence  seems  to  her  grief- 
stricken  mind  an  omen  of  dire  and  terrible  significance.3  She  sings 
another  snatch  of  her  song,  but  choking  tears  prevent  her  from  sing 
ing  more.  Hastily  she  abandons  the  harp,  and  dismisses  her  com 
panion.  Any  scene  of  this  character  inevitably  puts  the  listener  in 

1  It  is  the  gondolier  who,  while  singing  a  song,  beguiles  the  time  of  his  passage 
across  the  placid  lagoon  by  thinking  of  his  children,  while  the  skies  grow  dark  ... 

2  Seated  at  the  foot  of  a  willow-tree  ... 

8  As  this  scene  was  played  in  Naples,  where  the  superstition  of  the  jettatura 
[the  evil  eye]  still  persists,  the  effect  was  electric. 


228  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

mind  of  Mozart;1  but  memory  induces  comparison,  and  comparison, 
in  this  case,  profound  regret. 

Alone  in  her  chamber  in  the  depths  of  this  terrible  night,  while  the 
palace  which  is  her  home  is  shaken  from  cellar  to  attic  by  the  crash 
ing  of  thunder,  Desdemona  turns  to  heaven  with  a  short  prayer, 
which  again  (musically  speaking)  is  not  all  that  it  might  be,  but  which 
nevertheless,  in  performance,  seems  greatly  superior  to  the  Willow 
Song. 

And  then  she  moves  towards  her  bed;  and  the  curtains,  falling 
behind  her,  hide  her  from  the  audience. 

At  this  point,  in  the  larger  Italian  theatres,  the  orchestra  plays 
a  magnificent  ritornello,  which  was  of  necessity  omitted  at  the 
Theatre  Louvois  in  Paris,  thanks  to  the  parsimony  and  shoddiness  of 
the  decor.  During  this  ritornello,  far  away  in  the  uttermost  depths  of 
the  stage,  and  incredibly  distant,  we  glimpse  Othello,  a  lantern  held 
high  in  his  hand,  and  Ms  naked  cangiar  under  his  arm,  tip-toeing 
towards  his  wife's  chamber,  down  the  winding  staircase  of  a 
tower.  This  stairway,  which  winds  downwards  in  a  spiral,  gives  us 
glimpses  of  the  fearful  visage  of  Othello,  a  lonely  point  of  light  picked 
out  by  the  lantern  in  the  midst  of  this  infinite  ocean  of  darkness, 
appearing,  disappearing,  and  then  appearing  again  as  he  follows  the 
twists  of  the  little  stairway  which  is  his  only  path;  now  and  then,  the 
light  catches  the  blade  of  the  unsheathed  cangiar,  and  the  gleam  of 
steel  flashes  a  chill  warning  of  the  coming  murder.  After  an  infinite 
length  of  time,  Othello  reaches  the  front  of  the  stage,  moves  across  to 
the  bed,  and  parts  the  curtains.  At  this  climax,  no  description  could 
be  anything  but  a  superfluous  piece  of  impertinence;  let  it  be  enough 
simply  to  recall  the  magnificent  stature  of  Nozzari,  and  his  pro 
foundly  moving  acting.  Othello  sets  down  Ms  lantern;  a  gust  of  wind 
blows  it  out.  He  hears  Desdemona  cry  out  in  her  sleep:  Amato  ben! 
Flashes  of  lightning  chase  each  other  now  across  the  sky  in  an  ever- 
quickening  succession,  as  in  some  southern  storm;  and  their  light 
flickers  into  the  fateful  chamber.  With  any  luck,  the  audience  will 
fail  even  to  catch  the  fatuous  imbecility  of  the  librettist,  who  has 
chosen  this  moment  of  all  moments  to  show  off  Ms  pretty  talents  as 
a  wit!  Othello  cries  out: 

*  C£  fl*  roas  of  Ae  statue  of  the  Commander  in  Don  Giovanni:  or  the  despair 
01  Dona  Anna  when  she  comes  upon  the  body  of  her  father. 


OTELLO  229 

Ah!  che  tra  i  lampi,  il  cielo 

A  me  piii  chiaro  il  suo  delitto  addita!1 

Desdemona  wakes  up;  and  there  ensues  a  duet  which  is  hardly 
worthy  of  the  situation.  Othello  seizes  his  cangiar,  while  Desdemona 
flies  for  safety  to  the  bed,  and  receives  the  fatal  stroke  just  as  she 
reaches  it.  The  curtains  fall  together,  and  hide  the  rest  of  the  terrible 
deed,  which  takes  place  in  the  darkest  recesses  of  the  stage.  Simul 
taneously,  the  whole  chamber  is  shaken  with  the  noise  of  battering 
on  the  door,  and  the  Doge  appears  ...  the  rest  of  the  story  is  common 
property. 

It  was  in  Venice,  on  the  occasion  of  just  such  a  performance  of 
Othello,  during  one  of  those  evenings  stilled  into  sadness,  or  rather 
into  a  kind  of  pensive  melancholy,  which  sometimes,  in  these  strange 
lands  of  the  South,  steal  like  ghosts  into  the  merriest  feast  of  life, 
that  we  fell  to  talking  about  the  tragedies  which  have  overtaken  real 
lovers ;  and  Signora  Gherardi,  of  Brescia,  told  us  the  tale  of  Hortensia 
and  Stradella.  At  the  time,  it  affected  us  with  an  impression  which 
perhaps  may  not  survive  the  re-telling  now,  and  in  any  case,  the 
story  is  well  known;  but  in  spite  of  all  these  disadvantages,  here  it  is. 
It  is  indeed  a  "plain,  unvarnished  tale" ;  the  facts  are  historically  true, 
and  not  without  significance  for  the  student  of  the  manners,  and  even 
of  the  political  state  of  Venice  at  the  time. 

Alessandro  Stradella*,  in  1650,  was  the  most  celebrated  singer  in 
Venice,  and  indeed  in  all  Italy.  In  those  days,  the  art  of  musical 
composition  was  extremely  primitive.  The  maestro  created  scarcely 
more  than  the  sketch  of  an  idea;  the  real  burden  of  creation  lay  far 
more  heavily  upon  the  singer  than  it  does  to-day,  and  it  was  his 
genius  which  had  to  invent  almost  everything  that  was  significant  or 
characteristic  in  the  music  which  he  executed.  It  was  actually  Rossini 
who  was  the  earliest  composer  to  whom  it  occurred  to  write  down,  in 
precise  detail,  all  the  embellishments  and  all  th&fioriture  which  the 
singer  was  to  perform.  But  in  Italy,  in  the  neighbourhood  of  the 
year  1650,  the  situation  was  very  different.  The  natural  consequence 

1  Ah!  See  how,  amidst  the  flashes  of  the  lightning, 

Heaven  shows  me  your  crime  more  clearly  ! 

This  is  supposed  to  mean  that  the  lightning  has  shown  Othello  that  Desdemona  is 
asleep,  and  therefore  that  the  words  caro  ben  ("my  well-beloved")  are  spoken  in 
a  dream  to  a  man  whom  she  loves,  and  not  to  him  (Othello),  who  is  there,  but 
whom  she  cannot  see  coming,  because  she  is  asleep. 


230  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

was  that  the  attraction  of  music  was  far  more  closely  bound  up  with 
the  individual  personality  of  the  singer;  and  in  the  general  opinion  of 
the  day,  among  all  those  who  enjoyed  a  certain  measure  of  popular 
ity,  there  was  none  who  could  so  much  as  rival  Stradella;  it  became 
proverbial  to  say  that  "he  could  master  the  hearts  of  all  who  heard 
him".  One  day  he  came  to  bask  in  his  own  celebrity  in  Venice,  which 
at  that  date  was  the  most  brilliant  of  all  the  capitals  in  Italy,  and  the 
city  which  was  famed  above  all  others  for  the  pleasures  which  were 
to  be  had  within  its  boundaries,  and  the  fastidious  freedom  of  its 
manners  and  morals.  Stradella  received  an  eager  welcome  in  the 
most  distinguished  families,  and  the  highest-born  ladies  in  the  city 
would  quarrel  over  the  privilege  of  taking  lessons  with  him.  It  was  in 
this  society  that  he  first  met  Hortensia,  a  lady  of  Roman  birth  and 
aristocratic  breeding,  who  was  at  that  time  a  widow,  and  publicly 
courted  by  a  noble  Venetian  belonging  to  one  of  the  most  powerful 
families  in  the  Republic.  Stradella  won  her  love.  Signora  Gherardi, 
took  us,  on  the  day  following  the  one  on  which  she  told  us  the  story, 
to  see  his  portrait  which  hung  in  the  palace  of  one  of  her  friends ;  and 
we  beheld  his  proud  features  deeply  imprinted  with  melancholy,  and 
his  black  eyes  burning  with  those  subterranean  fires.,  whose  secret  life 
is  so  disturbing.  The  art  of  the  portrait-painter,  brought  to  perfection 
in  Venice  through  the  school  of  Titian  and  Giorgione,  permits  us 
even  to-day  to  study  every  detail  of  Stradella's  face.  It  is  not  hard  to 
believe  that  such  a  man,  ennobled  by  the  added  distinction  of  a  great 
talent,  should  have  been  loved  with  passionate  sincerity,  and  should, 
in  spite  of  his  own  poverty,  have  seized  his  prize  out  of  the  very  grasp 
of  a  great  and  powerful  Seigneur •;  and  in  fact  he  did  steal  Hortensia 
away  from  the  noble  Venetian.  There  was  only  one  course  which  the 
two  lovers  had  open  to  them:  to  escape  as  quickly  as  possible  from 
the  territory  of  the  Republic.  They  retreated  to  Rome,  where  they 
lived,  giving  themselves  out  to  be  a  married  couple.  But,  still  fearing 
the  vengeance  of  the  frustrated  Venetian  lover,  they  were  afraid  to 
travel  directly  and  openly  to  Hortensia's  estates;  instead,  they 
journeyed  by  the  most  circuitous  routes,  and,  even  when  they  arrived 
in  Rome,  they  took  lodgings  in  the  most  deserted  quarter  of  the 
town,  and  studiously  avoided  showing  themselves  in  public  places. 
The  Mred  assassins,  whom  the  Venetian  nobleman  had  set  on  their 
tracks,  took  many  months  to  discover  them.  After  having  vainly 


OTELLO  231 

scoured  all  the  most  important  towns  in  Italy,  they  eventually 
arrived  in  Rome  one  evening  when  there  happened  to  be  in  progress 
a  great  funzione,  with  music,  in  the  church  of  San  Giovanni  Laterano ; 
and  there,  entering  with  the  rest  of  the  congregation,  they  chanced  to 
perceive  Stradella.  Overjoyed  at  the  freakish  coincidence  which  had 
found  them  their  victim  just  when  they  were  about  to  despair  of  ever 
encountering  him,  they  resolved  to  waste  no  more  time,  and  to  carry 
out  the  task  for  which  they  were  hired;  but  first  they  began  a  thor 
ough  exploration  of  the  church,  seeking  in  every  corner,  in  case 
Hortensia  might  chance  to  be  among  the  assembled  faithful.  They 
were  still  busily  employed  in  their  search,  when  certain  other  musical 
items  executed  by  artists  of  lesser  repute  came  to  an  end,  and 
Stradella  himself  began  to  sing.  In  spite  of  themselves,  they  stopped 
dead;  and  some  force  seemed  to  compel  them  to  listen  to  the  divine 
voice.  Hardly  had  they  been  listening  for  more  than  a  few  minutes, 
when  they  felt  themselves  profoundly  moved;  in  all  the  world  there 
was  but  one  artist  who  could  command  such  exquisite  perfection,  and 
they  were  to  extinguish  for  ever  a  voice  of  such  unparalleled  beauty! 
Stricken  with  horror,  they  began  to  shed  tears  of  remorse,  and  long 
before  Stradella's  singing  had  come  to  an  end,  they  had  no  further 
thought  but  to  rescue  those  very  lovers  whose  death  they  had  sworn 
upon  the  Holy  Gospels  at  the  instant  when  they  received  the  salary 
for  their  hire.  At  the  conclusion  of  the  ceremony,  they  watched 
patiently  for  Stradella  outside  the  church;  and  in  the  end  then- 
patience  was  rewarded  by  the  sight  of  him  leaving  the  building,  with 
Hortensia,  by  an  inconspicuous  little  doorway  at  the  side.  Going  up 
to  him,  they  thanked  him  for  the  pleasure  he  had  just  given  them,  and 
confessed  that  he  literally  owed  his  life  to  the  impression  which  Ms 
voice  had  made  upon  them,  and  to  the  manner  in  which  he  had 
melted  their  hearts;  further,  they  explained  the  dreadful  mission  of 
their  journey,  and  advised  him,  to  escape  from  Rome  without  a 
moment's  delay,  so  that  they  might  convince  the  jealous  Venetian 
lover  that  they  had  arrived  too  late. 

Stradella  and  his  mistress  were  not  slow  to  grasp  the  significance  of 
this  advice;  and  so,  that  very  same  evening,  they  chartered  a  ship,  set 
sail  down  the  Tiber,  journeyed  by  sea  as  far  as  Spezzia,  and  thence 
made  their  way  to  Turin  by  the  most  unlikely  roads.  The  Venetian 
nobleman,  for  his  part,  having  received  the  report  submitted  by  Ms 


232  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

buli,  was  fired  to  a  still  higher  pitch  of  fury,  and,  there  and  then 
resolving  to  take  the  responsibility  of  vengeance  upon  his  own 
shoulders,  set  off  directly  for  Rome,  to  call  upon  Hortensia's  father. 
Here  he  succeeded  in  convincing  the  old  man  that  nothing  could 
wash  away  the  stains  of  his  dishonour  save  the  blood  of  his  daughter 
and  of  her  seducer.  Italy  at  that  time  had  inherited  from  the  old 
mediaeval  Republics  that  vengeful  spirit  of  the  vendetta,  which 
to-day  has  lapsed  so  completely  into  oblivion;  revenge,  in  those 
barbarous  times,  represented  the  only  honour  which  was  known,  the 
only  additional  safeguard  over  and  above  the  common  laws,  the  only 
means  to  which  an  injured  party  might  resort  in  a  land  where  duelling 
would  merely  have  seemed  absurd.1  Thus  the  Venetian  and  the  aged 
father  fell  into  complete  agreement,  and  together  instituted  a  search 
throughout  every  town  and  village  in  Italy.  When,  finally,  they 
received  news  from  Turin  that  Stradella  had  taken  refuge  there,  the 
old  Roman  aristocrat  who  was  Hortensia's  father,  accompanied  by 
two  hired  assassins  particularly  renowned  for  the  skill  which  they 
displayed  in  the  exercise  of  their  craft,  set  out  for  Piedmont,  having 
first  taken  care  to  supply  himself  with  several  letters  of  introduction 
to  the  Marquis  de  Villars,  who  was  at  that  time  French  Ambassador 
to  the  Court  of  Turin. 

Stradella,  for  Ms  part,  was  now  forewarned  by  his  adventure  in 
Rome,  and  had  taken  steps  since  his  arrival  in  Turin  to  acquire 
protection  in  high  places.  His  talents  had  earned  him  the  favour  of 
the  Duchess  of  Savoy,  who  at  that  period  was  Regent  of  the  kingdom. 
This  princess  undertook  to  help  the  two  lovers  to  escape  from  the 
fury  of  their  enemies;  Hortensia  was  allowed  to  retreat  into  a  con 
vent,  while  Stradella  received  the  title  of  First  Singer  to  the  Royal 
Household,  and  thus  was  permitted  to  live  actually  within  the 
precincts  of  the  royal  palace.  These  precautions  seemed  adequate; 
and  so  for  several  months,  the  two  lovers  had  basked  in  a  warmth  of 
tranquillity  and  perfect  happiness;  they  were  indeed  almost  tempted 
to  believe  that,  after  the  fiasco  in  Rome,  the  Venetian  had  grown 
tired  of  the  pursuit,  when  one  evening,  Stradella,  who  was  taking  the 
air  upon  the  ramparts  of  Turin,  was  set  upon  by  three  men  who  left 

1  Vide:  Benvenuto  Cellini,  Memoirs;  also  the  excellent  History  of  Tuscany 
(1 814),  by  Pignotti.  This  last  is  a  very  sincerely-written  book,  and  greatly  superior 
to  that  by  Signor  Sismondi,  who  has  no  gift  whatsoever  for  describing  the  social 
and  moral  background  or  the  true  physiognomy  of  an  historical  period. 


OTELLO  233 

him  for  dead  with  a  stab-wound  in  the  chest.  The  assailants  proved  to 
have  been  Hortensia' s  father,  that  venerable  Roman  citizen,  together 
with  his  two  hired  assassins,  who  all  retreated  immediately  after  the 
crime  to  seek  asylum  in  the  Residence  of  the  French  Ambassador. 
M.  de  Villars,  who  wished  neither  to  protect  them  from  the  conse 
quences  of  a  murder  which  was  a  nine-days'  wonder  throughout  all 
Turin,  nor  to  hand  them  over  to  justice  after  his  own  Residence  had 
been  invoked  as  asylum,  took  the  third  course,  which  was  to  connive 
at  their  escape.1 

Against  all  probability,  however,  Stradella  recovered  from  his 
wound,  albeit  with  the  total  loss  of  his  exquisite  voice;  and  thus  for  a 
second  time,  the  Venetian  saw  all  his  plans  frustrated.  Nevertheless, 
he  still  continued  to  cherish  his  scheme  for  vengeance.  Now,  how 
ever,  with  a  prudence  learnt  from  failure,  he  took  an  obscure  name, 
and  settled  down  in  Turin,  satisfied  for  the  moment  to  set  a  horde  of 
spies  to  watch  Hortensia  and  her  lover. 

Such  insatiable  and  bloody  perseverance  may  seem  almost  incred 
ible;  but  such  was  the  code  of  honour  of  the  time;  if  the  Venetian 
aristocrat  had  renounced  his  right  to  revenge,  he  would  himself  have 
been  pilloried  by  public  scorn.2 

In  this  manner,  a  whole  year  went  by;  at  the  end  of  which  the 
Duchess  of  Savoy,  who  had  grown  meanwhile  ever  more  deeply 
interested  in  the  fate  of  the  two  lovers,  resolved  to  legitimize  their 
union  and  to  crown  it  with  the  consecration  of  marriage.  After  the 
ceremony  was  over,  Hortensia,  who  was  bored  with  convent-life,  had 
a  wish  to  see  the  Genoese  riviera.  Thither  Stradella  took  her;  they 
arrived  in  Genoa;  and  the  following  morning,  both  were  found  dead 
in  bed — stabbed.*  * 

1  An  identical  situation  arose  in  Chambery  in  July,  1823. 

2  A  friend  of  mine  in  Bergamo*  [RadichiJ  tells  how  he  was  forced  by  public 
opinion  to  shoot  and  kill,  in  the  open  street,  a  sbirro  who  had  surveyed  him  with 
a  look  of  undisguised  suspicion.  He  escaped  justice  for  the  offence  by  means 
of  a  self-imposed  exile  to  Swiss  territory,  which  lasted  exactly  six  weeks. 


LR 


CHAPTER  XX 
La  Cenerentola 

J[  H  E  first  performance  I  ever  heard  of  la  Cenerentola  was  given  in 
Trieste*,  where  it  received  a  superb  performance  from  Madame 
Pasta,  who  can  be  as  tantalizing  in  the  role  of  Cinderella  as  she  is 
tragic  in  Romeo  e  Giulietta;  from  Zuchelli,  whose  voice  with  its 
magnificent  tonal  purity*  is  sadly  under-appreciated  by  our  Paris 
ian  audiences;  and  finally  from  that  unrivalled  buffo  singer, 
Paccini. 

It  would  have  been  hard  to  remember  a  finer  production  of  any 
opera — such,  in  any  case,  was  the  verdict  given  in  Trieste,  where  the 
public  kept  la  Cenerentola  running  for  a  hundred  performances 
on  end,  instead  of  the  thirty  for  which  Madame  Pasta  had 
bargained. 

Nevertheless,  in  spite  of  the  talented  acting  and  the  enthusiasm  of 
jthe  audiences  (which  last  is  a  necessary  condition,  essential  to  the  true 
enjoyment  of  music),  I  was  greatly  disappointed  with  la  Cenerentola. 
On  the  first  occasion,  I  was  convinced  that  I  was  unwell;  subse 
quently,  however,  as  performance  after  performance  left  me  cold  and 
unmoved,  while  the  crowds  around  me  cheered  to  the  pitch  of 
delirium,  I  was  forced  to  admit  that  my  dissatisfaction  must  have  its 
roots  in  some  permanent  personal  idiosyncrasy.  The  music  of  la 
Cenerentola,  beautiful  as  it  is,  seems  to  me  to  be  lacking  in  some 
essential  quality  of  idealism. 

Many  opera-lovers — perhaps  the  majority — are  little  concerned 
with  the  technical  difficulties  of  the  score;  their  delight  lies  in  allow 
ing  the  music  to  flow  gently  and  caressingly  over  their  imagination, 
there  to  conjure  up  whole  castles  of  glittering  and  romantic  fantasies. 
If  the  music  is  simply  bad,  the  imagination  remains  lifeless  and 
immobile;  but  if  it  is  barren  of  idealism,  there  will  be  no  lack  of 
fantasies  in  the  imagination,  but  they  will  be  harsh,  prosaic  and 
revolting,  and  the  soul,  repelled  by  such  intrinsic  vulgarity,  will 


LA  CBNERENTOLA  235 

eventually  seek  its  satisfaction  elsewhere.  Whenever  I  see  la  Cener- 
entola  announced  on  the  theatre-bills,  I  feel  impelled  to  say,  in  the 
words  of  the  Marquis  de  Moncade:  "To-night  I  shall  rub  shoulders 
with  the  hoipolloir  The  music  clutches  at  my  imagination,  and  willy- 
nilly  drags  it  down  to  its  own  level,  among  the  petty  hurts  and 
pettier  triumphs  of  snobbishness,  among  the  titillating  satisfactions 
of  appearing  at  a  ball  in  faultless  evening  dress,  or  of  being  nomin 
ated  major-domo  to  some  minor  scion  of  royalty.  Now  I,  having  been 
born  and  lived  long  in  France,  may  freely  confess  that  I  am  heartily 
sick  of  snobbishness  and  vanity,  sick  of  its  little  victories  and  defeats, 
sick  of  braggadocio  and  gasconades,  sick  of  every  one  of  the  five  or  six 
hundred  musical  comedies  dealing  with  the  foiled  expectations  of 
snobs  and  braggarts  which  I  have  had  to  sit  through  in  my  career. 
Since  the  death  of  our  last  great  writers  of  genius,  Fabre  d'Eglantine 
and  Beaumarchais,  our  entire  dramatic  tradition  has  come  to  rest 
upon  one  foundation,  and  one  only:  vanity.  Society  itself,  or  at  least 
nineteen  parts  out  of  twenty  of  that  society,  including  everything  that 
is  vulgar  and  bourgeois,  turns  and  turns  again  about  one  axis: 
vanity.  Without  wishing  to  seem  unpatriotic,  I  believe  I  may  legiti 
mately  record  that  I  am  by  now  utterly  nauseated  by  this  passion, 
which,  in  France  at  least,  seems  to  have  usurped  the  prerogatives  of 
all  the  rest  put  together. 

I  went  to  Trieste  in  the  hope  of  discovering  something  new;  but 
when  I  saw  la  Cenerentola,  I  felt  that  I  was  back  in  Paris,  at  the 
Theatre  du  Gymnase. 

Music  is  incapable  of  sustaining  rapid  dialogue;  it  can  portray  the 
subtlest  shades  of  the  most  ephemeral  emotions,  shades  so  fine  and 
delicate  that  they  may  elude  even  the  greatest  of  writers;  it  might 
even  be  suggested  that  the  real  domain  of  music  begins  only  where 
the  domain  of  the  spoken  word  finishes;  but  music  has  one  vital 
limitation:  it  cannot  sketch  an  idea.  In  this  respect,  music  shares  the 
disadvantages  of  sculpture,  as  compared  with  sculpture's  rival  among 
the  visual  arts,  painting;  the  majority  of  objects  which  strike  us  as 
remarkable  in  real  life  are  valueless  as  subjects  for  the  sculptor,  for 
the  simple  reason  that  the  chisel  cannot  leave  anything  half-said.  The 
brush  of  a  Veronese  or  of  a  Rubens  can  create  a  magnificent  portrait 
out  of  some  famous  warrior  in  full  armour;  but  nothing  is  heavier, 
or  more  absurd,  than  the  same  subject  under  the  sculptor's  chisel.  If 


236  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

you  want  an  example,  take  the  statue  of  Henri  IV  in  the  courtyard  of 
the  Louvre.1 

Imagine  some  idiotic  braggart  retailing  gaudy  and  totally  un 
founded  anecdotes  of  battles,  wherein  he,  the  hero  of  heroes,  has  won 
immortal  crowns  of  glory;  in  musical  terms,  the  melodic  line  would 
give  us,  in  all  sincerity,  his  own  estimate  of  himself;  but  the  accom 
paniment^  all  the  while,  would  be  full  of  mockery  and  disbelief. 
Cimarosa  has  created  a  score  of  little  masterpieces  founded  upon 
some  principle  of  this  sort. 

Melody  can  do  nothing  with  emotional  half-tones  and  suggestions; 
these  qualities  are  found  only  in  the  under-currents  of  orchestral 
harmony*.  Yet  note  that  even  harmony  cannot  convey  any  but  the 
most  fleeting,  the  most  ephemeral  of  images,  for,  as  soon  as  harmony 
starts  to  claim  too  much  attention  in  its  own  right,  it  threatens  to  kill 
the  melody,  as  indeed  does  happen  in  certain  passages  of  Mozart;  in 
which  case,  harmony,  having  now  usurped  the  dominating  role  in 
the  partnership  of  composition,  becomes  itself  incapable  of  suggest 
ing  the  half-expressed  and  the  half-perceived.  I  ask  pardon  for  this 
brief  excursion  into  metaphysics,  which  I  could  certainly  contrive  to 
make  less  obscure  if  only  I  could  play  a  few  illustrations  on  a  piano.2 

I  was  attempting  to  explain  how  it  happens  that  music  is  so  ill- 
equipped  when  it  comes  to  depicting  vanity,  and  the  superficial 
triumphs  which  pertain  to  it,  together  with  all  the  rest  of  the  bag  of 
pretty  little  tricks  so  popular  in  France — the  material  from  which, 
over  the  last  ten  years,  every  theatre  in  Paris  has  been  churning  out 
its  nauseating  harvest  of  spicy  entertainment*  its  glut  of  cheap  plays 

1  Sculpture  is  to  painting,  rather  as  a  letter  to  an  intelligent  and  not  unattract 
ive  mistress  is  to  an  informal  conversation;  the  sculptor  and  the  letter-writer  have 
the  same  problem,  which  is  fundamentally,  how  to  avoid  spoiling  a  suggestion  by 
over-emphasis. 

2  A  fine  example  of  this  relationship  between  melody  and  accompaniment  is  to 
be  heard  in  the  Moor's  cavatina  in  Otello:  the  melody  is  triumphant;  but  the 
accompaniment  whispers  insistently,  Othello,  thou  shalt  die. 

3  Eg.,  le  Faux  Pourceaugnac,  le  Comedien  d'Etampes,  les  Memoir es  d'un 
Colonel  de  Hussards,  etc.,  etc.;  or  at  Drary  Lane,  the  Deceiver  deceived,  etc.  The 
so-called  high-life^  of  every  society  in  Europe  is  compounded  of  nothing  but 
vanity.  This  is  probably  the  reason  why  this  same  high  society,  which,  outside  Italy, 
is  the  only  social  class  which  cultivates  music  at  afi,  is  at  bottom  so  utterly  anti- 
musical;  and  why,  on  the  other  hand,  it  is  so  passionately  fond  of  French  novels. 

A  Russian  aristocrat  from  Saint  Petersburg  knows  nothing  more  perfect  in  wit, 
intelligence  and  delicacy  of  feeling  than  Mannontel's  Contes  Moraux  (v.  De  la 
Russie,  by  Passovant  and  Clarke). 

t  In  English  in  the  original  (Trans.) 


LA   CENERENTOLA  237 

and  shoddy  operas,  any  one  of  which  grows  worse  than  intolerable 
after  the  second  hearing. 

The  triumphs  of  vanity  are  rooted  in  a  process  of  contrast,  in  a 
series  of  comparisons,  deft-fingered  and  drawn  with  lightning  rapid 
ity,  between  oneself  and  other  people.  Vanity  is  inconceivable  without 
other  people*,  and  this  factor  alone  is  quite  enough  to  paralyse  the 
imaginative  faculty,  since  true  imagination  cannot  spread  its  mighty 
wings  unless  it  be  in  solitude,  and  cut  off  from  other  people  by  a  black 
barrier  of  oblivion.  Therefore  no  art  whose  principal  appeal  is  to  the 
imagination  should  risk  its  chances  by  meddling  with  the  portrait  of 
vanity. 

La  Cenerentola  dates  from  1817;  Rossini  composed  it  for  the 
teatro  della  Valle>  in  Rome,  for  the  Carnival  season  1816-17  (26th 
December  1816,  lasting  approximately  until  the  middle  of  February 
1817).  The  singers  at  his  disposal  were  more  or  less  unknown:  they 
included  Signora  Righetti*,  Signora  Rossi,  Guglielmi  (tenor)  and  De' 
Begnis  (buffo). 

The  introduction  to  la  Cenerentola  consists  of  a  passage  for  Cinder 
ella  and  her  two  unkind  sisters:  the  elder  is  seen  practising  dance- 
steps  in  front  of  her  cheval-glass;  the  middle  sister  is  adjusting  a 
flower  in  her  hair;  while  poor  Cinderella,  faithfully  fulfilling  the  r61e 
which  we  have  heard  attributed  to  her  ever  since  our  earliest  child 
hood,  is  busy  heating  up  the  fire  with  a  pair  of  bellows  to  make 
coffee.  The  whole  of  this  introduction  is  witty  and  amusing;  the  song 
of  Cinderella  herself  contains  a  few  "touching**  passages,  but  they 
are  to  be  classed  with  those  similar  "touching"  scenes  which  form  so 
indispensable  a  part  of  our  good  old  middle-class  melodrama,  where 
the  audience  is  driven  to  weep  hot  tears  by  the  very  commonplaceness 
of  the  misfortunes.  From  beginning  to  end,  this  whole  section  is 
emotionally  superficial,  as  though  written  under  the  influence  of  the 
proverb:  Let  sleeping  dogs  lie.  The  music  itself  is  pre-eminently 
Rossinian.  Neither  Paesiello  nor  Cimarosa  nor  Guglielmi  ever 
touched  so  ethereal  a  degree  of  feather-lightness. 

But  at  the  words 

Una  voha,  e  due9  e  tre!1 

the  melody  seems  to  me  to  degenerate  into  utter  triviality.  From  this 
1  Once!  Twice!  Three  times! 


238  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

point  onwards,  the  music  invariably  afflicts  me  with  a  faint  feeling  of 
nausea;  and  this  reaction,  which  is  never  entirely  dissipated,  recurs 
periodically  throughout  the  opera,  and  with  increasing  violence.  In 
Trieste,  to  console  myself  for  feeling  as  splenetic  as  the  proverbial 
Englishman,  sitting  in  morose  and  solitary  gloom  amid  an  audience 
seething  with  excitement,  I  used  to  analyse  my  own  reactions,  and 
eventually  reached  the  conclusion,  that  idealism  is  as  essential  to 
music  as  it  is  to  other  arts;  and  further,  that  the  scenes  which  music 
conjures  up  in  our  minds,  and  the  fancies  which  it  kindles  in  our 
imaginations,  should  always  eschew  banality  in  any  marked  degree. 
I  cannot  take  any  pleasure,  for  instance,  in  the  comedies  of  M. 
Heard;  I  despise  his  heroes  too  intensely.  I  am  not  denying,  mark 
you,  that  there  may  be  dozens  ofPhiliberts  and  of  Jacques  Fauvels  in 
this  world  of  ours;  I  am  merely  saying  that  I  should  refuse  positively 
ever  to  degrade  myself  sufficiently  in  my  own  estimation  as  to  speak 
to  them! 
Whenever  I  hear  the  tune : 

Una  volta,  e  due,  e  tre! 

I  receive  the  impression  of  having  wandered  by  accident  into  the 
back  of  some  shop  off  the  rue  Saint-Denis.  The  Polish  pedlar  of  a 
shop-keeper  may  not  disapprove  of  what  he  hears  spoken  on  Ms  own 
premises;  nor,  apparently,  is  the  average  inhabitant  of  the  city  of 
Trieste  liable  to  be  disagreeably  impressed;  while  even  /  am  quite 
prepared  to  pray  that  happiness  should  descend,  like  manna  in  the 
wilderness,  upon  every  dirty  little  back-shop  in  France  ...  provided 
that  I  am  not  required  to  associate  with  the  inmates  of  such  establish 
ments,  who,  assuredly,  would  think  me  even  more  repellent  than  I 
should  think  them. 
Don  Magnifico's  cavatina: 

Miei  rampolli feminini  -,.1 

when  it  is  sung  by  Galli  or  by  ZucheUi,  is  a  positive  orgy  of  vocal 
sensuality.  Its  enormous  popularity  has  been  largely  due,  however,  to 
its  admirable  suitability  as  a  vehicle  for  displaying  the  rich  delights  of 
a  full-toned  and  resonant  bass  voice;  further  than  this,  it  is  nothing 
but  a  pastiche  of  Cimarosa,  minus  the  genius! 
1  My  female  offspring  ... 


LA  CENERENTOLA  239 

Ramiro,  the  prince-in-disguise  of  la  Cenerentola,  has  a  duet  which 
I  find  a  slight  consolation  for  don  Magnifico's  cavatina:  the  pretty 
impertinence  of  the  music  is  still  somewhat  reminiscent  of  some  win 
some  little  milliner  from  the  rue  Vivienne,  but  many  sins  are  forgiven 
to  a  pretty  woman;  and  beauty  soon  obliterates  vulgarity.  The 
passage: 

Una  grazia,  un  certo  incanto  ..}• 

has  a  certain  charm,  and  I  find  a  pleasant  suggestion  of  wit  in 
Quel  cri  e  padre  non  e  padre 


Sta  a  vedere  che  rrf  imbroglio!* 

In  this  scene  we  meet  Rossini  in  the  fullest  display  of  his  powers 
and  in  the  most  triumphant  field  of  his  talent.  Yet  how  sad  it  must 
seem,  to  those  whose  sensibility  is  of  a  rarer  quality,  that  with  all  his 
resplendent  wit,  he  could  not  manage  to  squeeze  out  a  drop  or  two  of 
dignity  \  It  should  be  remembered,  however,  that  this  opera  was 
written  specifically  for  the  citizens  of  Rome,  from  whose  manners 
every  trace  of  dignity  and  refinement  has  been  banished3  by  three 

1  A  grace,  a  certain  enchantment ... 

2  The  one  who  is  a  father  is  not  a  father. ...  Just  watch  how  I  meddle  with  the 
business ! 

Whenever,  with  brazen  shamelessness,  I  appear  to  be  conscientiously  offering 
to  the  most  critical  literary  public  in  Europe  some  poetic  monstrosity  of  even 
more  preposterous  ineptitude  than  usual,  this  said  offering  being  extracted  from 
the  Italian  libretto,  it  is  to  be  clearly  understood  that  my  only  object  in  so  doing  is 
to  remind  the  ear  of  the  melody  and  accompaniment  which  Rossini  has  composed 
to  a  given  text.  In  any  case,  how  should  I  conceivably  manage  to  do  what  I  am 
setting  out  to  do,  unless  I  can  assume  that  the  reader  has  been  to  the  opera  buffa 
at  least  once  within  the  last  six  months?  Further,  if  any  reader,  during  the  last  six 
months  prior  to  reading  this  note,  shall  prove  to  have  a  total  of  less  than  ten  visits 
to  the  Theatre  Louvois  to  his  credit,  or  shall  be  unable  to  furnish  evidence  that  he 
has  read  at  least  one  book  or  serious  treatise  upon  the  principles  of  art  at  some 
time  within  the  last  two  years  (e.g.,  Dubos,  la  Poesie  et  la  Peinture;  Paine  Knight, 
the  Principles  of  Taste;  Alison,  Essay  on  Beauty;  or  some  noble  treatise  in  German 
upon  the  subject  which  our  Teutonic  neighbours  love  to  call  die  &sthetiky-^if 
there  be  any  such  person  among  my  readers,  then  I  take  the  strongest  objection 
to  him! 

a  An  admirable  portrait  of  the  manners  of  this  period  is  afforded,  in  a  most 
naive  and  curious  fashion,  by  the  comedies  of  Gherardo  de*  Rossi.  His  descrip 
tion  of  the  world  he  knew  omits  nothing,  save  one  or  two  of  the  less  acceptable 
social  improprieties,  such  as  revenge  by  arson,  or  murder  by  poison,  or  a  few 
other  misdemeanours  of  similar  character,  which,  considered  purely  as  material 
for  comedy,  are  perhaps  a  little  awkward  to  manage,  and  which,  if  depicted  as 
part  of  the  normal  routine  of  daily  life  in  His  Holiness'  personal  estates,  might 
have  compromised  the  further  peaceful  existence  of  Signor  de*  Rossi,  who  is  a 
banker  in  Rome.  These  comedies,  together  with  the  Confessions  of  Carlo  Gozzi 


240  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

centuries  of  Papal  government,  and  by  the  Machiavellian  politics  of 
a  Pope  Alexander  VI  and  of  a  Ricci!1 

The  cavatina  sung  by  the  lackey  Dandini,  who  comes  on  disguised 
as  the  Prince: 

Come  urf  ape  ne'  giorni  d'aprile  ...2 

is  extremely  amusing.  In  this  instance,  the  servants'-hall  vulgarity 
which  pervades  the  whole  style  of  the  music  is  for  once  really  in 
place;  the  score,  like  the  libretto,  contains  just  the  thinnest  veneer  of 
guttersnipe-ish  brassiness,  exactly  the  right  amount  to  remind  us  of 
Dandinf  s  real  status  without  shocking  our  sensibility  by  too  extrava 
gant  a  display  of  coarseness.  Cimarosa  would  have  preferred  to  show 
us  the  passions  of  his  unsophisticated  characters,  rather  than  their 
social  mannerisms,  acquired  as  a  direct  result  of  contact  with  society 
at  a  particular  level;  but  then  he  would  have  shown  us  how  these 
passions  were  thwarted  by  the  degrading  circumstances  of  a  humble 
social  position. 

In  Paris,  this  cavatina,  which  is  a  sort  of  concerto  for  a  good  bass 
voice,  is  often  performed — and  most  delightfully  performed  at  that — 
by  the  excellent  basso  Pellegrini;  and  in  particular  the  lines 

Galoppando  se  *n  va  la  ragione 
Efra  i  colpi  (Tun  doppio  cannone 
Spalancato  e  il  mio  core  di  gia, 
(Ma  alfinir  della  nostra  commedia  ...)3 

are  sung  with  infinite  grace,  and  embellished  with  enchanting  sprays 
offioriture.  The  speed  with  which  the  music  gallops  away  with  the 
last  line  of  this  quatrain  is  genuinely  thrilling.  The  Italian  librettist, 
Signer  Feretti,  of  Rome,  had  the  good  sense  to  make  no  attempt  to 

are  the  sources  which  I  have  consulted  every  time  that  I  have  come  to  set  down  in 
these  pages  some  characteristic  detail  concerning  this  curious  country,  which, 
amid  all  the  surrounding  aridity  of  this  modern  age  in  which  we  live,  still  produces 
its  Canovas,  its  Vigands  and  its  Rossinis,  whereas  we  in  France,  with  the  rarest  of 
exceptions,  can  turn  out  nothing  but  charlatans  of  greater  or  lesser  agility  in  the 
wild  scramble  for  an  entry  on  the  Pensions  List  and  a  contribution  from  the 
Privy  Purse! 

1  Kg.,  the  poisoning  of  honest  old  Ganganelli,  who,  seated  in  full  sunlight  in  a 
window  of  his  palace  at  Montecavallo,  had  been  amusing  himself  by  dazzling 
passerby  with  points  of  light  reflected  in  a  mirror.  Most  singular  consequence 
of  Jesuitical  poison! 

3  Like  a  bee  in  the  April  days  ... 

*  Galloping  reason  flees  away,  and  amidst  shots  fired  from  a  double-cannon, 
my  heart  is  already  torn  wide  open  (but  at  the  end  of  our  play . . .) 


LA  CENERENTOLA  241 

imitate  the  gallic  wit  of  his  original  model — and  this  was  a  sacrifice 
which  needed  some  courage,  for  it  is  common  knowledge  that 
Cendnllon  is  one  of  the  most  enchanting  of  all  the  delightful  works 
which  have  come  from  the  pen  of  M.  Etienne. 

So  far,  all  that  the  opera  has  offered  us  is  a  broad  display,  if  not  of 
downright  coarseness,  at  least  of  excessive  vulgarity;  and  Rossini's 
music,  far  from  striving  to  diminish  the  crude  complexion  of  his 
material,  has  if  anything  served  to  intensify  it.  After  such  an  orgy  of 
emotional  brashness,  therefore,  it  is  a  most  welcome  refreshment  to 
reach  the  scene  where  Cinderella  runs  after  her  father,  catching  him 
by  the  tails  of  his  embroidered  coat,  and  singing: 

Signor,  unaparola!1 

The  acting  of  Madame  Pasta,  her  uncontrolled,  childish  emotion  in 
particular,  is  excellent.  I  confess  that  I  find  this  quintet  quite  delight 
ful;  in  music,  as  in  painting,  some  hint  of  dignity  seems  to  me  to  be 
an  essential  and  constituent  part  of  art;  conversely,  in  respect  of 
M.  Teniers,  etc.,  I  have  the  honour  to  acknowledge  myself  in  com 
plete  agreement  with  the  opinion  expressed  by  Louis  XIV. 
In  the  song: 

La  belle  Venere 

Vezzosa,  pomposetta  ...2 

it  needed  all  the  skill  of  Madame  Pasta's  stagecraft  and  acting  to 
console  me  into  forgiving  the  triviality  of  the  music;  but  this  slightly 
nauseating  little  tune  vanishes  suddenly  into 

(Ma  vattene!)  ...  Altezzissima!3 

As  soon  as  don  Magnifico  begins  to  reveal  the  first  undercurrents 
of  real  emotion,  I  suddenly  lose  my  painful  awareness  of  the  trivial 
superficiality  which  characterizes  all  his  behaviour.  At  this  point, 
Galli's  fine  voice  becomes  really  magnificent. 

There  is  a  pretty  little  tune  to  the  words: 

Nel  volto  estatico 
Di  questo  e  quello  ...4 

1  Sir,  a  word  with  you! 

2  Fair  Venus,  resplendent  with  charms  and  gracefully  majestic  ... 
8  (But  begone!)  ...  Your  supreme  Highness! 

4  In  the  ecstatic  countenance  of  this  person  and  of  that ... 


242  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

although  here  again  we  come  up  against  that  intrusive  note  of 
vulgarity. 

In  the  following  scene,  don  Magnifico's  exit  affords  Galli  a  further 
opportunity  to  display  the  superb  qualities  of  his  voice  on  the  line: 

Tenete  allegro  H  rl:  vado  in  cantina!1 

Stressing  the  literal  meaning  of  the  word  cantina,  he  lets  his  voice, 
with  all  its  rich  and  rolling  reverberations,  rumble  slowly  down  to 
bottom^. 

The  first-act  finale,  which  opens  with  a  chorus  of  courtiers  attend 
ant  upon  the  Prince  hauling  a  half-tipsy  don  Magnifico  up  from  the 
depths  of  the  cellar,  and  which  proceeds  with  don  Magnifico's  aria, 
is  a  perfect  pastiche  of  the  older  buffo  style  of  Cimarosa — but  without 
the  essential  undertones  of  deep  emotion.  I  can  only  repeat  what  I 
have  said  before  (perhaps  far  too  often!),  that  when  inferior  char 
acters  are  stripped  of  the  dignity  of  true  emotion,  all  the  elements  of 
unpleasantness  pertaining  to  their  humble  social  status  break 
through;  and  I  confess  that,  once  I  have  seen  Tiercelin  in  le  Coin  de 
la  Rue  or  in  V Enfant  de  Paris,  I  find  it  unbearable  to  sit  through  the 
same  experience  a  second  time. 

In  don  Magnifico's  aria: 

Noi  don  Magnifico  ...2 

true  passion  is  replaced,  as  usual,  by  the  superficial  brilliance  of  wit; 
and  wit,  in  music,  is  never  a  sure  guarantee  against  the  creeping 
menace  of  the  commonplace.  The  best  that  this  aria  can  achieve  is  a 
sort  of  melodic  prettiness ;  I  find  it  sadly  lacking  both  in  verve  and  in 
inspiration ;  and,  in  my  opinion,  nothing  is  so  catastrophic  in  farce  as 
mediocrity  of  any  sort.  By  contrast,  the  duet  which  succeeds  it  is 
bright  and  brisk,  and  in  Trieste  was  acclaimed  as  the  musical  climax 
of  the  whole  work.  Ramiro  asks  his  lackey  Dandini,  who  is  still  dis 
guised  as  the  Prince,  what  impressions  he  has  managed  to  gather 
concerning  the  character  of  the  Baron's  two  elder  daughters : 

Zitto,  zitto; piano, piano  ...3 

1  Keep  the  King  happy;  Fm  going  down  to  the  cellar! — there  is  an  Italian  idiom, 
Canta  m  cantina,  which  means  to  sing  fnaudibly. 
*  We,  don  Magnifico  ... 
8  Quietly,  quietly!  Softly,  softly! 


LA  CENERENTOLA  243 

The  part  of  the  tenor  (Ramiro)  is  delightful  in  its  freshness  and 
originality,  and  is  deliciously  expressive  of  the  feelings  of  a  young 
Prince,  who  has  leamt  from  a  friendly  magician  that  one  of  the 
Baron's  daughters  is  worthy  of  his  heart  and  hand — the  magician  in 
question,  of  course,  was  referring  to  Cinderella.  The  pace  and  bril 
liance  of  this  duet,  which  offers  an  unparalleled  display  of  musical 
fireworks,  are  quite  unique.  Never  before  had  music  been  known  to 
bombard  the  listener  with  so  rich,  so  glittering,  so  spontaneous,  so 
original  a  succession  of  new  and  tantalizing  sensations. 

No  one  in  a  normal  frame  of  mind  who  hears  this  duet  can  resist 
its  impulsive  urge  to  merriment;  the  soul  is  left  defenceless  before 
this  boundless,  flooding  tide  of  fantasy — or  rather,  is  wafted  away 
into  some  seventh  heaven  of  delight  by  the  sheer  enchantment  which 
such  fantasy  brings  with  it  in  its  wake.  When  Ramiro  and  Dandini 
are  joined  by  the  two  elder  sisters,  the  ensuing  quartet: 

Con  urf  anima  plebea! 
Con  uri*  aria  dozzinale!1 

not  only  contains  several  passages  of  exceptional  musical  brilliance, 
but  in  addition  represents  a  master-stroke  of  verisimilitude  in  the 
dramatic  context  of  the  scene. 

The  aria  which  accompanies  Cinderella's  entry  into  the  assembly- 
room, 

Sprezza  quei  don  die  avversa  ...a 

is  not  only  graceful,  but  unusually  witty  into  the  bargain. 

The  second  act  opens  with  an  or/a,  in  which  don  Magnifico 
confides  to  us  that,  as  soon  as  one  of  his  daughters  is  safely  married 
to  the  Prince,  the  profitable  perquisites  of  office  are  bound  to  start 
rolling  in  to  him: 

Gia  mi  par  che  quest o  e  quello 

Conftnandomi  a  un  cantone 

E  cavandosi  il  cappello 

Incominci:  Ser  Barone 

Allafiglia  sua  reale 

Porterebbe  un  memoriale? 

1  With  a  plebeian  soul!  With,  an  air  of  cheap  vulgarity  1 
*  He  despises  those  gifts  which  you  have  lavished  ... 


244  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

Prendrti  poi  la  cioccolata, 
E  una  doppia  ben  coniata 
Faccia  intanto  scivolare. 
lo  rispondo:  Eh  si,  vedremo; 
Gia  e  dipeso?  Parleremo  ,..*1 
Ramiro's  aria: 

Se  fosse  in  grembo  a  Glove  ...,2 

which  reveals  the  fact  of  his  love,  and  his  determination  to  discover 
the  object  of  his  admiration,  is  pleasant  in  an  amusing  sort  of  way; 

1  I  can  already  imagine  someone  or  other  taking  me  secretly  aside  into  a  corner 9 
and  taking  off  his  hat,  and  beginning  thus:  "My  Lord  Baron,  would  you  do  me  the 
favour  of  carrying  a  petition  for  me  to  your  Royal  daughter  ...  and  then,  of  course, 
you'll  do  me  the  honour  of  taking  chocolate  with  me,  won't  you?. . ."  And  meanwhile, 
a  well-minted  doubloon  slips  unobtrusively  into  my  hand.  So  I  reply:  "Ah  yes.  ... 
We'll  see  ...  is  the  coin  full  weight?  Very  well,  then  ...  let's  discuss  the  matter". 

Such  indeed  is  the  accepted  standard  of  behaviour  in  the  wretched  city  of 
Rome,  and  such,  in  consequence,  are  the  tasteless  satires  which  may  be  perpe 
trated  without  risk  of  provoking  an  outcry;  such,  finally/ is-  the  normal  way  in 
which  affairs  are  managed  within  the  boundaries  of  the  Papal  State !  In  Paris,  we 
draw  a  more  becoming  veil  of  discretion  over  such  transactions.  I  recall  two  young 
gentlemen,  who  were  already  making  handsome  profits  out  of  certain  contracts 
with  the  Ministry  of  ***;  but  they  had  the  notion  that  they  might  effectively 
double  the  number  of  fictitious  accounts  presented  every  month  for  signature  if 
they  could  only  succeed  in  inducing  the  Citoyen  Ministre  to  agree  to  some  accept 
able  gift.  Accordingly,  after  a  series  of  careful  researches  in  the  close  neighbour 
hood  of  Paris,  one  of  the  two  young  gentlemen  finally  lighted  upon  a  most 
pleasant  mansion  surrounded  by  a  fine  park,  not  far  from  Mon  ...  Having  pur 
chased  the  property,  they  had  the  mansion  furnished  and  decorated  in  the  very 
latest  fashion  and  with  every  refinement  of  elegance  and  taste.  When  all  the  altera 
tions  were  complete,  the  parquet-flooring  well  polished,  the  clocks  set  and  wound, 
one  of  the  would-be  profiteers  said  to  his  collaborator:  "Why  not  enjoy  ourselves 
for  a  week  in  our  own  Manor  before  handing  it  over  to  the  Minister?"  The  out 
come  of  this  brilliant  inspiration  was  the  immediate  installation  of  a  score  of 
beautiful  women,  complete  with  their  beaux,  and  banquets  every  day,  followed  by 
balls  every  evening.  But  at  length  the  fatal  day  dawned  when  this  week  of  splend 
our  had  to  end;  one  of  the  accomplices  sadly  locked  up  the  mansion,  carried  away 
the  keys,  and  laid  them  before  the  Minister.  The  latter  accepted  the  "gift";  the 
only  words  of  acknowledgement,  however,  that  he  deigned  to  utter  were:  "The 
place  is  bound  to  be  damp,  I  warrant!"  "Impossible,  sir!"  came  the  reply.  "We 
have  taken  the  precaution  of  living  in  it  ourselves  for  a  whole  week  before  offering 
it  to  you."  "And  who  were  your  companions  during  this  time?"  "'Fore  God,  sir, 
none  but  our  usual  friends,  who  proved  most  worthy  guests."  "By  which," 
rejoined  the  Minister,  "I  understand  that  you  have  had  the  audacity  to  introduce 
women  of  doubtful  reputation  into  my  residence;  I  confess,  sir,  that  I  find  you 
confoundedly  impertinent!  You  may  go  free  this  time;  but  on  another  occasion 
you  will  be  pleased  to  observe  the  proper  respect  which  is  due  to  a  Minister  of  the 
Crown!"  Having  received  this  admonition,  the  honest  contractor  vanished;  while 
the  Minister  ordered  his  horses,  and  set  out  to  inspect  his  new  properly 

2  If  I  were  in  the  lap  of  Jove  ... 

Mythology  (as  you  may  observe)  falls  like  manna  from  heaven  upon  the  bad 
poets  of  Italy  (no  less  than  in  France!). 


LA  CENERENTOLA  245 

it  is  a  brilliant  show-piece  for  a  competent  tenor,  and  ideally  suited 
to  the  concert-platform— a  remark  which  reminds  me  that,  while 
Rossini's  imitators  have  often  recaptured  the  pace  of  his  work,  which 
is  easy  enough  to  copy  in  music,  no  one  has  yet  succeeded  in  re 
producing  his  peculiar  brand  of  wit. 
The  duet  which  follows : 

Un  segreto  d'importanza  ...1 

is  a  superb  example  of  the  art  of  pastiche  or  musical  plagiarism.  In  all 
probability  it  could  never  have  existed  at  all  without  a  specific  model, 
which  is  to  be  found  in  the  second  act  of  il  Matrimonio  segreto : 

Sefiato  in  corpo  avete  ...2 

Yet,  even  if  one  is  so  familiar  with  Cimarosa's  little  masterpiece  as  to 
know  it  completely  by  heart,  none  the  less  there  is  still  infinite  delight 
to  be  had  from  listening  to  the  imitation.  If  this  claim  seems  extrava 
gant,  it  can  be  verified  any  day  in  Paris,  where  Rossini's  duet  is 
excellently  sung  by  Zuchelli  and  Pellegrini.  The  line: 

Son  Dandini,  il  cameriere!* 

invariably  gets  a  well-deserved  laugh,  partly  because  of  the  sudden 
impact  of  a  return  to  realism,  and  partly  as  a  result  of  the  puncturing 
of  the  Baron's  grossly-inflated  sense  of  self-importance. 

In  Trieste,  the  part  of  Dandini  was  played  by  Paccini,  that  most 
exquisite  of  buffo  actors;  and  it  is  one  of  my  greatest  regrets  that  I 
cannot  convey  even  the  sketchiest  notion  of  the  effects  which  he 
produced.  But  it  is  better  to  admit  straight  away  that  there  is  nothing 
to  be  gained  by  description,  unless  the  reader  should  chance  to  have 
seen  him  with  his  own  eyes — Paccini,  laughing  up  his  sleeve  at  the 
fatuousness  of  the  Baron,  as  they  enter  together  for  their  duet; 
Paccini  watching  him  out  of  the  corner  of  his  eye,  unostentatiously, 
yet  with  such  concentration  that  he  almost  misses  his  own  chair  as 
he  sits  down,  and  comes  within  an  inch  of  rolling  ignominiously 
upon  the  floor ;  Paccini  striving  with  everything  he  knows— yet  always 
in  vain — to  stifle  his  laughter  when  he  realizes  just  exactly  how  much 
significance  the  Baron  attaches  to  the  secret  which  he  is  about  to 

1  A  secret  of  importance  ...  *  If  you  have  breath  in  your  body  ... 

8  I  am  Dandini,  the  servant! 


246  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

impart;  Paccini  concealing  his  irrepressible  explosions  of  mirth  by 
turning  his  head  abruptly  to  one  side,  which  gesture  plunges  the 
Baron  into  nameless  despair,  since  he  interprets  it  to  mean  that  the 
"Prince"  has  withdrawn  his  favour  from  him;  Paccini,  with  some 
desperate  and  contorted  effort,  pulling  his  face  straight  again  ...  and 
then  turning  slowly  back  towards  the  Baron  with  a  countenance  of 
indescribable  gravity;  Paccini,  lacking  at  last  the  iron  will  to  sustain 
this  mask  of  puritanical  and  reverend  gloom,  raising  his  eyebrows  to 
an  unprecedented  height  upon  Ms  forehead,  thus  inspiring  further 
torments  of  mortal  anxiety  in  the  bosom  of  our  poor  provincial 
Baron,  flabbergasted  by  the  sudden  appearance  of  so  profoundly 
horrifying  an  expression  upon  his  Sovereign's  august  features  ... 
The  actor  who  played  the  Baron  had  no  need  to  do  anything,  for  the 
audience,  choking  with  laughter  and  wiping  the  tears  from  its  eyes, 
had  no  attention  to  spare  for  him;  the  absurdity  of  his  character  was 
ineradicabiy  and  for  ever  established  by  Paccini's  reactions  to  it;  for 
indeed,  Paccini's  acting  was  so  perfect  and  lifelike  in  its  characteriza 
tion  of  a  man  who  is  getting  a  rise  out  of  some  oafish  imbecile,  and 
extracting  the  very  last  ounce  of  enjoyment  out  of  the  process,  that 
even  if  the  part  of  the  Baron  had  been  played  by  a  Fleury  or  a 
de'  Marini  or  by  any  one  of  the  masters  of  classical  comedy,  with  every 
shade  and  nuance  of  ingenuity,  art  and  psychological  profundity,  the 
audience  would  have  found  itself  compelled,  even  in  spite  of  itself, 
to  think  of  them  as  village  idiots.  Paccini's  behaviour  was  so  real  and 
so  natural,  that  not  for  one  instant  could  one  conceive  that  any  man, 
whose  face  wore  such  an  expression,  could  be  in  the  presence  of  any 
body  save  a  genuine  and  authenticated/00/! 

Furthermore,  this  astonishing  programme  was  varied  at  every 
performance;  what  talent,  what  genius  indeed,  could  ever  give  the 
faintest  impression  of  that  endless,  crowded  sequence  of  doubtful 
and  malicious  jibes,  of  gestures  parodying  the  behaviour  of  his 
friends  and  colleagues,  of  allusions  to  their  private  affairs,  of  refer 
ences  to  the  current  chronicle  of  gossip  in  Trieste,  all  of  which, 
together,  constituted  Paccini's  "interpretation"  of  a  part? 

For  instance,  the  inextinguishable  burst  of  laughter,  when,  on  one 
occasion,  after  Ms  line  to  the  Baron : 

70  vado  sempre  apledi  ...1 
1 1  always  go  on  foot ... 


LA  CENERENTOLA  247 

Paccini  suddenly  took  it  into  Ms  head  to  add: 

Per  esempio  verso  la  crociata!1 

But  of  course,  you  cannot  explain  a  joke  \  and  nobody  knows  that 
better  than  I  do! — for,  to  explain  it,  you  have  to  start  telling  it  all 
over  again,  and  the  flimsiest  of  anecdotes,  which,  in  the  telling,  takes 
no  more  than  half  a  minute  (which  is  probably  precisely  what  it  is 
worth!),  runs  to  three  or  four  good  pages  of  print  in  a  book,  the  very 
sight  of  which  fills  me  with  so  much  shame  and  confusion,  that  I 
immediately  tear  it  all  up  again! 

Paccini,  like  Rabelais,  is  a  volcanic  eruption  of  broad  and  dis 
creditable  jokes;  and  whatever  their  effect  upon  the  audience,  there 
is  no  question  but  that  he  himself  enjoys  them  more  heartily  than 
anyone;  nor  can  the  dullest  of  spectators  have  the  slightest  doubt  of 
it,  seeing  how  his  delight  stamps  every  move,  gesture  and  inflexion 
with  the  very  genius  of  verve  and  naturalness.  To  my  mind,  it  is  this 
unrivalled  natural  quality  of  his  art,  the  undisguised  ingenuousness 
of  his  perpetual  buffoonery,  which  permits  him  to  get  away  with  the 
endless  series  of  burlesque  and  satirical  impertinences  which  he  fear 
lessly  flaunts  upon  the  stage  at  every  performance,  and  which,  any 
where  else,  would  land  him  in  gaol.  For  instance,  in  Trieste,  the 
twelfth  of  February  is  celebrated  as  the  Royal  Birthday;  there  is  a 
sung  Mass  with  full  music  in  the  Cathedral ;  and,  as  everybody  knows, 
at  such  a  festival,  the  musical  climax  is  always  a  great  gloria  in 
excelsis.  No  member  of  the  Faithful  is  excluded  from  participation 
in  any  of  the  offices  of  the  Church — not  even  Paccini  (and  why  should 
he  be,  since,  in  Italy  at  least,  there  is  no  sentence  of  excommunication 
pronounced  against  opera-singers?).  So  Paccini  goes  to  church;  and 
if,  on  his  arrival,  it  is  discreetly  observed  that  his  entire  head  from 
chin  to  crown  is  snowed  white  with  rice-powder,  is  it  to  be  assumed 
that  this  minor  anomaly  should  prove  any  valid  reason  for  his  failing 
to  join  the  rest  of  the  congregation  in  singing  the  great  Gloria,  and 
in  singing  it  well,  moreover,  and  with  irreproachable  gravity? — yet 
the  mere  sight  of  Paccini,  snow-capped,  yet  himself  singing  and 
serious,  is  at  long  last  too  much  for  this  particular  church-full  of  the 
Faithful,  who  disintegrate  finally  into  one  mighty  cataclysm  of 
laughter,  ably  led  therein  by  the  highest  dignitaries  in  the  land. 
1  For  example,  towards  the  crusade! 


248  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

I  have  purposely  chosen  as  an  illustration  one  of  Paccini's  most 
discreditable  performances.  In  Paris,  it  goes  without  saying,  any 
such  outrage  would  be  treated  as  abominable  and  disgusting,  inspir 
ing  nothing  but  undisguised  indignation,  instead  of  the  almost 
universal  laughter  which  we  witnessed  in  Trieste.  Yet  this  very 
indignation  is  significant  in  itself,  and  deserves  some  comment.  If 
Paccini  were  to  appear  in  France,  he  would  assuredly  provoke  the 
most  violent  indignation,  not  only  on  account  of  the  disreputable 
incident  illustrated  above,  but,  I  boldly  maintain,  on  account  of 
numberless  other  jests  which,  in  themselves,  are  in  no  way  repre 
hensible. 

I  am  profoundly  convinced  that,  say  Paccini  were  to  appear  as  a 
member  of  the  Italian  Opera  Company  in  London,  his  triumph  would 
be  as  notable  as  his  failure  would  be  catastrophic  in  Paris,  where,  if 
he  ever  dared  be  himself  on  the  stage  of  the  Theatre  Louvois,  he  would 
certainly  meet  a  chill  and  shocked  silence,  even  if  he  were  not  frankly 
booed  off  the  stage.  The  implication  would  seem  to  be  that  laughter 
has  been  banned  for  ever  from  the  soil  of  France;1  and  this  prompts 
me  to  make  an  enquiry:  is  this  perhaps,  not  an  isolated  disaster,  but 
a  revolution  which  is  inherent  in  any  advanced  state  of  civilization? 
Does  this  gross  and  inflated  measure  of  self-importance  represent  an 
unavoidable  stage  through  which  every  community  must  pass  on  its 
way  to  a  more  civilized  condition?  Or  is  it  rather  simply  one  more 
instance  of  the  pernicious  influence  of  the  court  of  Louis  XIV  upon 
French  taste  and  upon  French  aesthetic  sensibility  in  general?  Will 
the  Federated  Republics  of  America,  when  eventually  they  cast  off 
the  drabness  of  puritanism  and  the  cruelty  of  their  Old  Testament 
heritage,  come  likewise,  in  about  a  hundred  and  fifty  years'  time,  to 
this  same  stage  of  prohibited  laughter*?2 

Nevertheless,  although  we  in  Paris  have  never  seen  Paccini — 
although  it  is  well-nigh  impossible  that  we  ever  should  see  Mm — we 

1  We  have  already  reduced  our  best  comic  actors,  Samson  and  Monrose,  to 
the  ignominious  position  of  having  constantly  to  entertain  us  with  jokes  which 
we  know  already.  Our  supercilious  prudishness  refuses  to  countenance  anything 
new.  Potier  is  perhaps  the  only  comedian  left  who  enjoys  the  rare  privilege  of 
making  us  laugh  without  reservation;  and  this  is  simply  because  we  make  no 
attempt  to  conceal  our  contempt  for  his  particular  brand  of  humour  I 

2  If  any  one  of  our  worthy  French  literary  critics  ever  reads  this  page,  I  shall 
expect  an  outburst  of  fury:  On  the  contrary ;  Sir,  we  have  an  unparalleled  sense  of 
humour;  in  point  of  fact,  France  is  the  only  country  in  Europe  which  knows  how  to 
laugh  at  all! 


LA  CENERENTOLA  249 

have  at  least  had  a  glimpse  of  Galli  in  the  part  of  don  Magnifico.  But 
you  should  go  to  Milan,  where  he  is  the  idol  of  his  own  laughter- 
loving  audiences,  if  you  want  really  to  see  the  pontifical  gravity  of 
his  expression  as  he  sidles  off  into  the  salon  to  make  sure  that  no  one 
is  eavesdropping;  for  this  gravity  alone  is  sufficient  to  stamp  him 
indelibly  as  a  complete  fool  about  to  hear  a  momentous  secret.  And 
the  impetuosity,  the  admirable  impatience  in  his  characterization,  as 
he  scuttles  back  to  his  chair  to  hear  what  the  Prince  has  to  tell  him — 
a  man  overwhelmed  with  obsequiousness,  and  yet  so  greedy  of 
secrets  that  the  conflict  between  respect  and  curiosity  has  left  him 
exhausted,  until  in  the  end  he  stands  swaying  and  weaving  like  a 
snake  charmed  by  a  pipe,  and  yet  starting  convulsively  at  every  word 
the  Prince  utters;  the  portrait  is  perfect,  for  here,  in  front  of  us,  lives 
and  breathes  a  being  eaten  up,  utterly  gnawed  away  by  passion— and 
yet  this  unquenchable  passion  is  supremely  absurdl  But,  before  his 
audiences  in  Paris,  whose  solemn  presence  is  a  thing  of  terror  to  the 
poor  Italian  actors,  GalH  scarcely  found  the  courage  to  display  even 
half  of  his  real  dramatic  abilities;  for  all  Italians  know  that  European 
reputations  are  won  or  lost  in  Paris.  A  musical  article  or  review  in 
la  Pandore,  which  to  us  seems  just  so  much  nonsense  tricked  out  in 
fine  prose  and  which  we  therefore  unashamedly  skip  in  reading,  is  an 
oracle  of  terrifying  authority  to  these  miserable  foreign  actors.  In 
the  excess  of  their  generosity,  they  are  prepared  to  accept  it  as  the 
true  voice  of  the  most  highly-critical  public  in  Europe.  No  English 
man,  for  example,  is  prepared  to  bow  down  before  the  throne  of 
genius,  and  give  his  homage:  Wonderful!  Quite  amazing!1  until  he 
has  first  read  some  article  to  guarantee  the  reputation.  And  the  more 
frivolous,  the  more  absurd  even,  the  review  in  question,  the  more 
impressive  it  is  bound  to  appear  in  the  eyes  of  this  or  that  insurgent 
against  the  tyranny  of  the  serious. 
The  duet: 

Un  segreto  d'importanza  ... 

is  rapidly  followed  by  an  orchestral  interlude  depicting  a  storm,  in 
the  course  of  which  the  Prince's  coach  is  upset.  As  a  storm,  however, 
it  is  quite  innocent  of  Teutonic  implications,  bearing  not  the  slightest 
resemblance  to  Haydn's  storm  in  the  Seasons,  or  to  the  toil  and 

1  In  English  (with  mis-spellings)  in  the  original.  (Trans.) 


250  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

trouble  which  accompanies  the  casting  of  the  magic  bullets  in  der 
Freischutz.  Here  we  have  no  suggestion  of  tragedy;  yet  nature,  for  all 
that,  is  faithfully  imitated,  complete  with  miniature  "horrific  climax", 
exquisitely  rendered.  At  all  events,  and  even  without  making  any 
great  claims  to  tragedy,  this  unusual  passage,  right  in  the  middle  of 
an  opera  buffa,  offers  all  the  charms  of  contrast.  I  have  never  wit 
nessed  a  single  performance  (except,  of  course,  at  the  Theatre 
Louvois;  1  am  referring  to  orchestras  which  have  at  least  some 
subtlety  in  interpretation,  such  as  those  of  Dresden  or  Darmstadt) 
at  which  I  did  not  feel  spontaneously  impelled  to  cry  out:  Oh,  the 
ingenuity  of  the  thing!  Many  a  time  I  have  become  involved  in  argu 
ments  with  German  acquaintances  about  this  passage,  and  I  can 
readily  understand  that,  in  their  eyes,  this  particular  storm  must  seem 
nothing  but  a  washed-out  miniature;  people  who  can  be  moved  by 
nothing  less  impressive  than  the  Michelangelo  frescoes  will  obviously 
have  little  to  say  in  favour  of  this  kind  of  music;  on  the  contrary, 
their  ideal  is  bound  to  be  something  like  the  infernal  din  which 
emerges  from  the  concluding  passages  of  the  scene  in  der  Freischutz, 
referred  to  above,  where  the  diabolical  bullets  are  concocted  in  the 
furnace — all  this  affording  yet  another  proof  of  the  doctrine  that,  in 
music,  the  ideal  of  beauty  varies  with  the  climate.  In  Rome,  whose 
unique  and  peculiar  sensibility  Rossini  had  in  mind  when  he  com 
posed  the  storm  for  la  Cenerentola,  the  human  temperament  is 
nervous  and  exceedingly  sensitive,  and  men,  who  exist  on  their 
emotions,  and  detest  most  heartily  all  the  serious  business  of  living, 
nourish  their  systems  on  coffee  and  ices;  whereas  in  Darmstadt,  life 
is  one  long  round  of  good-fellowship,  fantasy  and  music,1  in  the 
midst  of  which  any  man  with  a  little  business-sense  and  a  due  quota 
of  scraping  and  bowing  in  the  direction  of  the  Sovereign,  can  make 
himself  a  pretty  fortune;  and  in  any  case  the  staple  diet  is  beer  and 
sauerkraut,  and  the  atmosphere  is  blurred  with  fog  for  six  months 
out  of  every  twelve.  But  in  Rome,  on  Christmas  Day,  when  I  went  to 
the  Papal  Mass  at  Saint  Peter's,  I  found  the  heat  most  decidedly 

1  The  reigning  Prince  of  Darmstadt  calls  to  mind  the  good  old  days  when  the 
Emperor  Charles  VI  was  renowned  as  the  finest  contrapuntist  in  all  his  wide 
dominions.  The  sovereign  raler  of  Darmstadt,  who  is  a  great  patron  of  the  arts, 
has  never  been  known  to  miss  a  rehearsal  in  his  own  opera-house,  and  beats  time 
from  the  royal  box;  and  all  the  players  in  his  orchestra  (which  is  excellent, 
incidentally)  have  received  his  personal  decoration. 


LA  CENERENTOLA  251 

uncomfortable  in  the  sun,  and  the  twenty-fifth  of  December  under 
Roman  skies  was  like  a  warm  mid-September  day  in  Paris. 
The  storm  is  followed  by  a  charming  sextet: 

Quesf  e  un  nodo  inviluppato  ..-1 

which  is  quite  strikingly  original.  When  I  first  heard  it,  I  used  to  think 
even  more  highly  of  it  than  I  do  now,  when  long  familiarity  has  made 
me  conscious  of  a  certain  drag  towards  the  conclusion  of  the  sotto- 
voce  section.  Nevertheless,  this  sextet  may  well  be  justified  in  its 
claim  to  represent  the  musical  climax  of  the  whole  opera,  vying  for 
preference  with  the  charming  duet  from  Act  I  between  Ramiro  and 
Dandini: 

Zitto,  zitto;  piano,  piano! 

and  if  the  duet  finally  wins  the  prize,  it  must  ultimately  be  thanks  to 
its  sustained,  magnificent  pace,  and  because  it  is  one  of  the  liveliest 
things  that  Rossini  has  ever  composed,  at  least  in  that  brisk  and 
impetuous  style  which  is  the  most  characteristic  feature  of  his 
especial  genius.  This  is  the  field  which  is  peculiarly  his  own,  and  in 
which  no  other  musician,  not  even  the  greatest,  can  claim  to  be  his 
master. 

The  great  aria  from  the  finale,  sung  by  Cinderella  herself,  is  some 
thing  more  than  the  standard  bravura  exhibition;  here  and  there  one 
glimpses  a  flash  of  sincerity  and  real  emotion: 

Perche  tremor  y  percM? 


Figlia,  sorella,  arnica, 

Padre,  sposo,  amiche!  o  istantel® 

It  must  be  admitted,  however,  that  the  principle  melody  which  is 
woven  about  these  flashes  of  intuitive  feeling  is  remarkably  common 
place.  This  is  one  of  those  arias  which  I  have  never  heard  so  well 
sung  by  anybody  as  by  Madame  Pasta;  her  rendering  held  a  note  of 
pathos  and  true  dignity  which  was  admirably  fitted  to  the  situation 
(true  virtue  triumphant  and  forgiving  after  years  of  misery);  and  by 

1  IMs  Is  a  complicated  knot ... 

s  Why  do  you  tremble,  why?  ...  To  you  I  am  a  daughter,  to  you  a  sister,  to 
you  a  friend. . . .  You  are  my  father,  you  are  my  husband,  ail  of  you  are  my  friends. 
. , .  O  joyous  instant ! 


252  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

this  she  dissipated  the  gnawing  suspicions  that  the  whole  aria  might, 
at  bottom,  be  nothing  more  than  a  bravura-piQCQ  for  the  concert- 
platform.  By  comparison,  when  Ester  Mombelli  sang  the  same  pas 
sage  in  Florence  in  1818,  it  did  indeed  degenerate  into  the  most 
shameless  bravura,  dignified  only  by  the  rare  technical  excellence  of 
the  performer.  I  have  never  heard  anything  clearer,  more  crystalline, 
than  this  exquisite  voice  of  Signorina  Mombelli,  trained  in  all  the 
ingenious  graces  of  the  old  school;  but  it  was  like  listening  to  a  dis 
play  of  academic  virtuosity ;  nor  did  it  ever  seem  to  occur  to  anyone 
to  wonder  about  the  motives  which  might  have  been  stirring  in 
Cinderella's  breast,  and  which  were  most  certainly  not  stirring  in  the 
music  as  rendered.  By  contrast,  when  Madame  Pasta  interprets 
Rossini,  she  brings  to  the  music  all  those  very  qualities  in  which  he 
is  lacking. 

It  is  worth  noting,  that  Rossini  has  now  given  us  three  operas 
which  conclude  with  a  grand  aria  for  the  prima  donna:  namely, 
Sigillara,1  Vltaliana  in  Algeri  and  la  Cenerentola. 

I  must  once  more  make  it  quite  clear  that  I  am  utterly  incompetent 
to  set  myself  up  as  a  critic  of  la  Cenerentola.  This  disclaimer  is  made 
entirely  in  my  own  interest,  lest  the  quality  of  my  musical  sensibility 
should  lie  open  to  question;  and  I  am  willing  to  be  modest  about 
anything  save  about  my  acute  sensitivity  to  music.  La  Cenerentola 
has  on  the  whole  been  more  successful  than  the  majority  of  Rossini's 
operas  in  France,  and  I  have  no  doubt  that  if,  by  some  whim  or 
other,  our  worthy  directors  had  seen  fit  to  engage  Signorina  Mom 
belli,  Signorina  Schiassetti  or  some  other  more  or  less  competent 
prima  donna  for  the  title-role,  it  might  even  have  rivalled  the  popu 
larity  of  the  Barber.  In  the  whole  score  of  la  Cenerentola,  I  doubt 
whether  there  are  ten  bars  which  evoke  the  fantastic,  extravagant 
and  fascinating  imagery  which  comes  crowding  in  upon  me  from  all 
sides  whenever  I  have  the  good  fortune  to  hear  a  performance  of 
SigiJlara  or  of  i  Pretendenti  delusi*  In  the  whole  score  of  la  Cener 
entola,  I  doubt  whether  there  are  really  ten  bars  on  end  which  wholly 
escape  the  taint  of  the  sordid  little  shops  in  the  rue  Saint  Denis,  or 
are  uncontaminated  by  the  odour  of  those  money-grubbing,  gutter- 
minded  business-men,  who,  when  I  meet  them  in  society,  send  me 

1  La  Pietra  del  Paragone.  (Trans.) 

2  One  of  Giuseppe  Mosca's  hundred  operas. 


LA  CENERENTOLA  253 

scuttling  out  of  the  back-door  as  soon  as  I  see  them  coming  in  at  the 
front.  But  these  elements  of  vulgarity,  which  I  find  so  inexpressibly 
distasteful,  would,  if  only  they  had  been  reasonably  well  sung,  have 
given  Paris  everything  it  ever  asks  for  under  the  title  of  comedy.  One 
must  therefore  assume  that  these  recent  Parisian  audiences  somehow 
failed  to  notice  the  very  features  which  seemed  so  inescapable  to  me; 
otherwise  I  cannot  see  how  a  public,  which  regularly  applauds  and 
encourages  such  productions  as  la  Marchande  de  Goujons,  VEnfant  de 
Paris  and  les  Cuismieres,  can  fail  to  have  gone  delirious  with  enthusi 
asm  over  la  Cenerentola.  In  which  case,  the  opera  would  have  stood 
to  benefit  from  a  process  of  suffrage  quite  as  complex  as  that  of  the 
double-vote  system:  it  would  have  been  borne  in  triumph  upon  two 
separate  sets  of  shoulders,  the  ones  belonging  to  those  who  adore 
Italian  opera  for  its  own  sake,  the  others  to  those  who  habitually 
gorge  themselves  on  the  coarse  vulgarity  offered  as  a  nightly  attrac 
tion  by  the  Theatre  des  Varietes* 


CHAPTER  XXI 
Velluti 

JL  REGRET  that  the  announcement  which  I  now  have  to  make  will 
be  unpalatable  even  to  the  most  favourably-disposed  class  of  readers 
which  this  present  biography  may  hope  to  secure.  I  am,  moreover, 
deeply  distressed  by  the  duty  incumbent  upon  me  to  make  it,  for  I  am 
well  aware  of  the  risk  which  I  am  taking;  countless  opinions,  strange- 
seeming  here  in  Paris,  which  I  have  expressed,  but  which  so  far  will 
have  been  excused  as  the  insignificant  vagaries  of  an  irresponsible 
mind,  will  suddenly  be  transmuted  into  indigestible  paradoxes,  into 
odious  blasphemies  whose  last  excuse,  that  of  relevance  to  the  matter 
on  hand,  will  have  been  swept  away  from  under  them.  Yet  the 
Author,  having  sworn  a  most  curious  oath,  which  is  to  speak  what  he 
believes  to  be  the  truth  on  all  matters  whatsoever,  even  at  the  risk  of 
offending  simultaneously  the  only  readers  who  are  capable  of  appreci 
ating  his  work,  and  the  great  artist  himself  whose  life  he  is  writing,  is 
in  a  position  of  dire  necessity  to  continue  even  as  he  has  begun. 

The  sort  of  man  who  moves  about  in  Society;  who  has  visited  the 
opera  buff  a  some  two  hundred  times  in  the  course  of  his  life  so  far; 
who  is  beginning  to  despise  the  Academie  Royale  de  Musique  except 
for  its  ballets;  and  who  studiously  neglects  the  Theatre  Frangais— 
such  a  man  represents  the  most  enlightened,  the  most  well-disposed 
reader  whose  attention  I  am  likely  to  secure.  Now,  a  dilettante  of  this 
class  may  perchance  recall,  long  ago,  when  the  censorship  was  less 
tyrannical  than  it  is  in  our  own  time,  having  seen  a  performance  of 
Beaumarchais'  glittering  comedy,  le  Manage  de  Figaro.  Figaro,  he 
will  remember,  is  excessively  vain  of  his  exhaustive  knowledge  of  the 
English  language:  which  exhaustive  knowledge  consists  of  one  word 
—Goddam!  Well,  to  come  to  the  point  and  risk  everything  in  one 
throw,  I  maintain  that  the  average  dilettante  in  Paris  has  precisely  the 
same  land  of  "exhaustive  knowledge"  of  one  of  the  most  important 
aspects  of  singing,  which  is  the  art  of  embellishment  oifioriture,  as 
Figaro  had  of  the  tongue  of  Shakespeare.  This  whole  realm  of  music, 


VELLUTI  255 

so  utterly  new  and  foreign  to  Parisian  ears,  could  only  be  explored, 
could  only  be  made  familiar  through  six  good  months  spent  in  an 
intensive  study  of  Davide  or  Velluti.  Any  explorer  who  arrives  in  a 
new  country,  after  the  first,  and  by  no  means  disagreeable  glance 
about  Mm,  is  bound  sooner  or  later  to  receive  a  violent  shock,  when 
he  begins  to  notice  the  multitude  of  strange  and  unfamiliar  objects 
which  come  crowding  about  him  from  every  quarter.  The  best- 
tempered,  the  most  genial  of  travellers  is  hard  put  to  it  to  suppress 
some  small  manifestation  of  distaste.  Such  would  undoubtedly  be  the 
reaction  of  any  average  Parisian  dilettante  face  to  face  for  the  first 
time  with  the  extraordinary  technique  of  which  Velluti  is  the  master*. 
I  would  suggest,  therefore,  to  any  such  dilettante,  that  he  should 
without  further  ado  set  out  to  make  a  study  of  the  Romance  from 
Isolina1  in  Velluti's  interpretation. 

Imagine  a  beautiful  woman,  whose  supreme  attribute  is  the 
perfection  of  her  figure,  sauntering  along  the  Terrasse  desFeuillants 
in  bright  December  sunshine,  wrapped  in  her  finest  mantle  of  furs; 
and  now,  an  instant  later,  visualize  this  same  graceful  being  setting 
foot  in  some  fashionable  drawing-room,  which  is  handsomely  fur 
nished,  filled  with  flowers,  and  warmed  to  a  gentle,  even  temperature 
by  some  ingenious  and  artfully-concealed  device;  watch  her,  as  she 
crosses  the  threshold,  throwing  off  her  furs,  and  standing  forth  in 
all  the  fresh  and  brilliant  tracery  of  a  spring-time  toilette.  The 
woman  who  walked  on  the  Terrasse  des  Feuillants  is  the  Romance 
from  Isolina  expatriated  from  Italy,  exiled  in  the  cold  North,  and 
there  enunciated  by  some  well-trained  tenor;  how,  under  such  cir 
cumstances,  such  wrappings,  are  you  to  do  more  than  guess  at  the 
secret  and  hidden  graces,  at  the  true  elegance  of  form  and  movement 
beneath?  Freshness  of  line,  perfection  of  contour  alike  are  invisible 
to  him  who  sees  but  the  envelope.  But  when,  on  the  other  hand,  you 
hear  the  fluted  voice  of  Velluti  singing  his  own  favourite  Romance,  it 
is  as  though  your  eyes  were  unsealed;  and  before  your  wondering 
gaze,  divested  at  last  of  her  heavy  mantle,  stands  Beauty  herself  in 
all  her  delicate  shapeliness  and  entrancing  fascination. 

The  first  three  bars  which  Velluti  sings  are  prayers  addressed  by  a 
lover  to  his  mistress  in  her  displeasure;  and  the  passage  concludes 

1  MorlacchTs  opera  Tebaldo  e  Isolina,  which  contains  the  famous  Romance* 
will  be  performed  (with  Velluti  in  the  cast)  in  Legnom  in  September,  1 823. 


256  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

with  a  sudden  fortissimo,  when  the  lover,  tormented  by  the  object  of 
his  love,  implores  her  forgiveness  in  the  name  of  memory — the 
memory  of  the  first  fair  morning  of  their  new-discovered  joy.  The 
two  opening  bars,  in  Vellutfs  interpretation,  are  filled  to  the  brim 
Vf'tfhfioriture,  expressing,  to  begin  with,  extreme  timidity,  and  later, 
profound  despair;  he  strews  every  note  with  descending  scales  in 
semitones,  with  scale  trillate;  and  then  at  the  third  bar,  resolves  them 
all  into  a  clear,  unembellished,  strong  and  sustained  fortissimo, 
which,  on  the  occasions  when  he  is  at  the  height  of  his  powers,  is  a 
miracle  of  freedom  and  confidence.  No  woman  who  truly  loved 
could  resist  such  a  cri  de  coeur. 

Such  a  style  may,  at  first,  seem  effeminate,  if  not  actively  disagree 
able;  but  at  least  the  average  French  opera-lover,  if  he  is  honest, 
must  confess  that  this  particular  vocal  technique  is  something  which 
he  does  not  understand,  a  terra  incognita  of  whose  existence  he  had 
received  no  inkling  from  the  singers  he  had  heard  in  Paris.  I  do  not 
deny  that  here,  in  this  country,  we  have  vocalists  who  can  execute 
fioriture,  and  execute  them  with  precision;  but  I  maintain,  firstly, 
that  the  sounds  produced  by  singing  of  this  character  are  not  usually 
pleasurable  in  themselves,  i.e.,  regardless  of  their  context  in  the  work 
as  a  whole;  and  secondly,  that  this  type  of  singing,  at  least  as  we 
know  it,  is  anti-musical,  since  it  constantly  associates  effects  which 
should  not  be  heard  in  juxtaposition,  and  which  injure  each  other  by 
their  close  proximity.  Even  without  exactly  understanding  the 
reason,  any  listener  of  true  and  natural  artistic  sensibility,  whose 
ear  has  been  trained  through  the  medium  of  a  couple  of  hundred 
performances  at  the  opera  buffa,  is  bound  to  feel  vaguely  dissatisfied 
with  the  impression  created  by  the  technique  of  ornamentation  as  it 
is  normally  interpreted  in  France;  he  may  reluctantly  accept  it  with 
his  mind;  but  his  heart  obstinately  remains  unmoved.  But  if  he  were 
to  hear  Velluti,  particularly  on  those  occasions  when  this  notable 
singer  is  at  the  height  of  Ms  form,  he  would  experience  precisely  the 
opposite  impression,  accompanied  by  a  sensation  of  pleasure  growing 
daily  more  exquisite.  The  celebrated  Sassarini,  a  castrato  attached  to 
the  Royal  Chapel  of  His  Majesty  the  King  of  Saxony,  used  to  create 
the  same  sort  of  impression  in  his  execution  of  church-music;  and 
Davide  comes  near  to  achieving  the  same  deliriously  exciting  result, 
or  as  near  as  is  possible  with  the  technique  of  a  normal  tenor.  I  will 


VBLLUTI  257 

not  confuse  the  reader  by  identifying  a  number  of  other  fine  singers 
who  might  have  conjured  up  a  distant  echo  of  those  angelic  sensa 
tions  which  Velluti  can  inspire  in  our  souls,  had  Nature  but  seen  fit 
to  accompany  the  gift  of  a  flexible  larynx  with  the  second,  but  no  less 
essential  gift  of  a  refined  sensibility.  It  is  by  no  means  uncommon  to 
hear  singers  of  this  latter  category  (who  are  usually  greeted  with  wild 
applause  by  the  vulgar  run  of  humanity,  which  has  no  fault  to  find 
with  them)  reeling  off  whole  strings  of  haphazard  fioriture,  some 
times  of  extreme  technical  virtuosity,  but  all  radically  incompatible 
with  each  other  in  meaning,  in  colour,  and  even  in  fundamental 
character.  Imagine  a  Talma,  complete  with  all  his  wonderful  powers 
of  dramatic  characterization,  in  the  grip  of  some  horrible  nightmare, 
and  declaiming,  in  rapid  and  totally  random  succession,  extracts 
from  each  of  his  most  famous  parts:  first,  four  lines  of  frenzied 
passion,  extracted  from  a  speech  by  Orestes  (Andromaque),  followed 
by  a  couple  of  lines  of  sublime  and  dignified  moral  ratiocination, 
borrowed  from  Severus  (Pofyeucte),  followed  again,  without  a 
moment's  pause,  by  a  couple  more  lines  of  snarling  tyranny  scarcely 
repressing  its  lust  for  blood,  and  ultimately  to  be  identified  as  Nero 
(Britannicus)  ...  and  the  all  while,  the  soulless  masses,  upon  whom 
the  significance  of  all  this  is  utterly  wasted,  vowing  that  they  have 
never  seen  more  marvellous  acting,  and  cheering  themselves  hoarse! 
Yet,  without  exaggeration,  this  sort  of  performance  is  precisely  the 
kind  to  which  we  have  been  accustomed  from  our  most  celebrated 
singers — for  instance,  from  M.  Martin. 

Whereas  Velluti  gives  us  a  whole,  coherent  speech,  every  line  of 
which  is  conceived  in  the  same  character. 


CHAPTER  XXII 
La  Gazza  ladra 

JL  HIS  black  and  platitudinous*  melodrama  was  contrived  for 
Rossini  by  Signor  Gherardini,  of  Milan,  who  based  Ms  libretto  upon 
a  popular  boulevard  play  of  the  same  character  by  MM.  Daubigny 
and  Caigniez.  To  make  matters  still  worse,  it  would  seem  that  this 
disgusting  little  anecdote  is  based  upon  an  actual  happening:  a  poor 
servant-girl  was  in  fact  hanged  on  one  occasion  at  Palaiseau,  and  in 
her  memory  a  Mass,  which  came  later  to  be  known  as  the  Magpie 
Mass,  was  instituted. 

In  Germany,  where  this  world  of  ours  is  thought  of  as  a  perpetu 
ally  unresolved  enigma,  and  where  the  natives  see  fit  to  spend  the 
thirty  or  forty  years  of  their  maturity  counting  the  bars  of  the  dismal 
cage  in  which  Fate  has  chosen  to  place  them;  where  the  melodrama 
Galas,  which  likewise  stems  from  our  vulgar,  popular  boulevard 
theatre,  is  prized  far  above  Schiller's  great  tragedies  Don  Carlos  or 
Wilhelm  Tell  (the  latter  being  deemed  too  classical?) ;  where,  in  this 
year  of  grace  1823,  there  is  still  a  widespread  belief,  not  only  in 
ghosts,  but  also  in  the  "miracles"  of  the  Prince  of  Hohenlohe — in 
Germany,  audiences  would  relish  nothing  so  much  as  the  added  little 
thrill  of  horror  which  this  hint  of  reality  brings  to  the  depressing  and 
melodramatic  fiction  of  la  Gazza  ladra. 

The  Frenchman,  on  the  other  hand,  being  first  and  foremost  con 
cerned  with  the  criteria  of  "good  taste",  argues  as  follows :  This  world 
of  ours  is  so  full  of  filth  in  any  case,  that  further  speculation  upon  the 
imbecility*  of  Him  who  created  it  is  nothing  but  one  of  the  more 
sordid  exhibitions  of  self-indulgence,  a  pastime  which  simply  adds 
one  more  drop  of  nastiness  to  the  whole  raging  ocean  of  meta 
physical  sewage ;  reality  is  a  plague,  to  be  avoided  as  one  values  one's 
sanity.  Art,  therefore,  far  from  being  concerned  with  realism,  has  as 
its  main  function  to  furnish  sufficient  idealism  to  purge  the  soul,  as 
swiftly  and  as  durably  as  possible,  of  every  taint  of  this  dung-heap 
world,  where 


LA  GAZZA  LADRA  259 

Le  grand  Ajax  est  mort,  et  Thersite  respire."1 

La  Harpe. 

But  the  Italian,  as  soon  as  he  has  shaken  off  his  adolescence  and 
the  priests  who  conscientiously  torment  it,  has  little  time  or  inclina 
tion  for  such  intricacy  of  argument;  he  would  soon  lose  himself  in  a 
web  of  subtlety  and  entanglement,  and  in  any  case,  for  centuries 
now,  the  police  of  Ms  country  have  forbidden  Mm  the  simplest 
elements  of  logic;  but  he  has  passions,  and  to  these  he  blindly  sur 
renders.  Rossini  has  woven,  for  his  especial  delight,  exquisite  music 
about  an  abominable  theme;  he  responds  to  tMs  challenge  by  enjoy 
ing  the  music  wMle  he  can,  and  by  paying  as  little  attention  to  the 
story  as  he  can  manage;  and  if  some  dismal  critic  were  to  come  and 
point  out  the  blemishes  in  the  object  of  Ms  pleasure,  he  would  take  to 
his  heels  and  run,  as  though  from  a  seccatore2  of  the  most  intolerable 
variety.  If  there  must  be  discussion,  the  Italian  will  only  have  it  of 
one  kind:  the  kind  wMch  immediately  and  perceptibly  increases  his 
present  delight. 

La  Gazza  ladra  is  one  of  Rossini's  most  successful  works.  He  wrote 
it  in  Milan,  in  1817,  for  the  spring  season*  (la primavera).* 

Fourteen  years  under  the  rule  of  an  inspired  despot  had  made 
Milan,  a  city  once  renowned  for  nothing  but  over-eating,  into  the 
intellectual  capital  of  Italy;  and  in  1817  it  could  still  number  among 
its  citizens  some  four  or  five  hundred  individuals — the  remnants  of 
that  army  of  administrators  wMch  Napoleon  had  recruited  from 
every  comer  of  Italy,  from  Bologna  to  Novara  and  from  la  Ponteffa 
to  Ancona,  to  hold  Mgh  office  in  Ms  Kingdom  of  Italy — who  stood 
head  and  shoulders  above  the  general  run  of  their  contemporaries. 
These  sometime  civil-servants,  who  remained  in  Milan,  partly 
through  fear  of  persecution  elsewhere,  but  partly  in  answer  to  their 
own  preference  for  the  life  of  a  capital  city,  were  in  no  wise  disposed 
to  acknowledge  the  superior  critical  acumen  of  the  Neapolitans  in 
any  field  whatsoever.  In  consequence,  the  la  Scala  audience  took  its 
seats  for  the  premiere  of  la  Gazza  ladra  with  the  firmest  intention  of 
deafening  the  composer  of  the  Barber,  of  EHsabetta  and  of  Otello 

1  Noble  Ajax  is  dead,  while  Thersites  still  breatlies. 

2  A  bore. 

8  The  opening  dates  of  the  various  stagwrd  are  as  follows:  Spring,  on  the 
10th  of  April;  Carnival,  on  the  26th  of  December,  which  is  the  second  day  of 
Christmas;  Autumn*  on  the  15th  of  August. 


260  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

with  a  positive  hurricane  of  displeasure  at  the  very  first  hint  of  a 
lapse  from  grace.  Rossini  was  not  unaware  of  this  prevailing  mood 
of  hostility,  and  was  therefore  extremely  nervous. 

But  the  triumph  was  so  delirious,  the  opera  created  such  &  furore 
(I  find  the  dynamic  quality  of  the  Italian  critical  vocabulary  quite 
indispensable!),  that  scarcely  a  moment  passed  without  the  entire 
audience  rising  to  its  feet  as  one  man  to  shower  Rossini  with 
applause.  That  night,  at  the  Caffe  deW  Accademia,  the  composer 
declared  that,  notwithstanding  his  delight  at  the  success  of  the  work, 
he  was  utterly  exhausted  by  the  effort  of  bowing,  literally  hundreds  of 
times,  to  an  audience  which,  at  every  instant,  had  been  interrupting 
the  performance  with  its  shouting  and  applause:  bravo  maestro! 
e  viva  Rossini! 

The  success,  then,  was  unparalleled* ;  and  it  may  fairly  be  claimed 
that  no  composer  has  ever  better  fulfilled  his  own  specific  intentions. 
Moreover,  the  applause  was  the  more  flattering  in  that,  as  I  have  said, 
the  audience  at  this  date  (1817)  still  comprised  the  intellectual  elite 
of  the  whole  of  Lombardy.  Thus  it  was  during  this  same  Golden  Age 
that  the  city  of  Milan  was  ennobled  by  the  choreographic  master 
pieces  of  Vigano.  Alas,  this  glorious  epoch  was  soon  to  crumble  into 
dust,  to  disintegrate,  around  1820,  in  a  welter  of  arrests  and 
carbonarism. 

I  was  myself  in  the  audience  for  that  first  performance  of  la  Gazza 
ladra;  and  it  was  one  of  the  most  glittering,  the  most  single-minded 
triumphs  I  have  ever  witnessed.  Furthermore,  this  same  triumph, 
maintained  at  this  same  pitch  of  enthusiasm,  continued  for  three 
months  on  end!  Rossini  was  fortunate  with  his  cast:  there  was  Galli, 
who  at  that  time  possessed  the  finest,  the  strongest  and  the  most 
expressive  bass  voice  in  all  Italy,  and  who  played  the  Soldier  in  a 
style  worthy  of  Kean  or  of  de*  Marini;  there  was  Madame  Belloc, 
who  sang  the  part  of  poor  Ninetta  with  her  pure  and  wonderful 
voice  which  seems  to  grow  younger  with  the  passing  of  every  year 
(the  role  is  not  difficult,  but  she  sang  it  with  infinite  grace  and  intelli 
gence;  and  I  remember  that  she  seemed  to  add  a  touch  of  dignity 
here  and  there  to  the  basic  conception  of  the  character,  so  that  in  the 
end  we  had,  not  so  much  a  common  serving-wench,  but  something 
much  closer  to  the  daughter  of  a  gallant  veteran,  driven  out  into  the 
world  to  seek  employment  on  account  of  her  father's  misfortunes); 


LA  GAZZA  LADRA  261 

there  was  Monelli,  a  pleasing  tenor,  who  played  the  young  conscript, 
Giannetto,  who  returns  to  his  father's  house;  there  was  Boticelli,  in 
the  part  of  the  old  peasant  Fabrizio  Vingradito  (the  part  which,  in 
Paris,  was  so  magnificently  interpreted  by  Barilli);  there  was 
Ambrosi,  with  his  glorious  voice  and  his  superbly-integrated  acting, 
in  the  role  of  the  villainous  Podestd;  and  finally,  there  was  the 
exquisite  grace  of  Signorina  Galianis,  which,  in  the  part  ofPippo,  was 
quite  inimitable,  and  lent  a  particular  charm  to  the  Act  II  duet  be 
tween  Pippo  and  Ninetta.  As  though  by  some  common  consent,  all 
the  actors  did  their  best  to  bring  some  touch  of  true  dignity  to  the 
story.  By  contrast,  Madame  Fodor's  performance  made  the  whole 
thing  unspeakably  vulgar. 


ACT  ONE 

What  is  there  to  say  about  the  overture  to  la  Gazza  ladral  In  fact, 
I  wonder  whether  there  is  anyone  left  who  is  not  already  completely 
familiar  with  this  most  picturesque  little  smfonia. 

Rossini's  innovation  of  scoring  for  the  drums  as  a  major  part  of  his 
instrumental  pattern  creates  an  atmosphere  of  realism,  if  I  dare  use 
the  term,  which  I  have  never  encountered  elsewhere;1  it  is  an  experi 
ence  which  can  scarcely  fail  to  make  a  vivid  impression.  Again,  it 
would  be  almost  impossible  to  describe  the  enthusiasm  and  the 
delirium  of  the  Milanese  audiences  on  first  hearing  this  masterpiece. 
The  pit,  having  clapped  and  cheered  to  the  echo,  having  shouted  for 
five  whole  minutes  on  end,  having  in  fact  created  such  an  uproar  and 
pandemonium  that  no  conceivable  stretch  of  the  imagination  can 
visualize  it,  found  itself  in  the  end  utterly  exhausted,  too  physically 
weak  to  cheer  a  moment  longer;  and  then  it  was  that  I  observed  each 
man  turn  to  his  neighbour  and  start  talking — a  phenomenon  which 
is  totally  foreign  to  the  suspicious  temperament  of  the  average 
Italian.  Meanwhile,  in  the  boxes,  the  crabbedest,  the  oldest,  the  most 
cantankerous  of  spectators  were  gasping  and  squeaking:  o  bello! 
0  £e//a/_the  same  word  over  and  over  again,  twenty  times  on  end, 

1  Cf.  the  various  treatises  concerning  this  overture  which  were  published  in 
Berlin  in  1819. 


262  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

and  not  addressed  to  anyone  in  particular  (for,  of  course,  to  repeat 
the  same  word  twenty  times  is  rather  odd  as  a  normal  conversational 
gambit),  but  rather,  every  man  having  by  this  time  grown  completely 
oblivious  even  of  the  fact  that  he  had  neighbours,  expressing  the 
thinker's  own  thought  to  himself.  These  cries  of  delight  held  all  the 
vivacity  and  all  the  charm  of  a  reconciliation;  for  the  public,  touchy 
in  its  vanity,  still  remembered  UTurco  in  Italia ;  and  I  imagine  that  the 
reader  will  not  have  forgotten  how  this  opera  received  an  unfavour 
able  welcome,  on  the  grounds  that  it  was  "lacking  in  originality". 
Rossini  was  determined  to  overcome  this  set-back;  and  his  Milanese 
friends  were  in  fact  extremely  flattered  to  find  that  he  had  created 
something  so  profoundly  original  for  their  especial  pleasure.  It  is 
this  underlying  preoccupation  at  the  back  of  the  composer's  mind 
which  explains  the  drum-passages  and  the  somewhat  Teutonic 
rowdiness  of  the  overture;  it  was  absolutely  essential  for  Rossini  to 
create  an  overwhelming  impression  from  the  very  first  notes.  But  in 
the  event,  the  first  twenty  bars  of  this  fascinating  sinfonia  were  quite 
sufficient  to  effect  an  unqualified  reconciliation  between  composer 
and  audience;  before  the  end  of  the  first  presto,  the  theatre  was  a 
tempest  of  delight;  and  the  public  en  masse  was  encouraging  the 
orchestra  with  extempore  accompaniments!  From  this  point  on 
wards,  the  opera  went  from  triumph  to  triumph,  and  the  performance 
was  one  long  scene  of  delirium.  At  the  end  of  each  number,  Rossini 
was  forced  to  abandon  his  seat  at  the  piano  in  order  to  acknowledge 
round  upon  round  of  applause;  and  in  the  end,  it  seemed  that  he 
would  sooner  grow  tired  of  bowing  than  the  audience  would  grow 
weary  of  manifesting  its  enthusiasm. 

This  overture,  which  begins  with  the  young  conscript,  covered  with 
medals  and  glory,  returning  to  the  bosom  of  his  rustic  family,  soon 
takes  on  a  note  of  sadness,  suggesting  the  tragic  events  which  are 
destined  to  follow;  but  even  this  sadness  is  shot  through  and  through 
with  fire  and  vivacity,  for  it  is  the  melancholy  of  youth,  not  of  age; 
and  in  fact,  all  the  chief  characters  of  the  opera  are  young.  The 
introduzione  sparkles  with  life  and  movement,  and  with  a  peculiar 
brilliance  which  reminds  me  of  Haydn's  symphonies  and  of  all  the 
uninhibited  dynamism  which  is  so  characteristic  of  this  composer. 
Attention  is  drawn  towards  the  Magpie  with  the  utmost  skill  and 
ingenuity: 


LA  GAZZA  LADRA  263 

Brutta  gazza  makdetta, 
Che  ti  colga  la  saetta!1 

In  this  passage,  from  the  very  first  bar,  I  am  always  struck  by  a  note 
of  rustic  energy,  by  a  strong  flavour  of  the  countryside,  above  all  by 
a  complete  lack  of  urban  sophistication — features  which  imbue  this 
particular  introduzione  with  a  colouring,  an  atmosphere  which  is  a 
world  removed  from  that,  say,  of  the  Barber.  I  like  to  think  that,  if 
there  were  music  in  Washington  or  in  Cincinnati — music  which  were 
genuinely  national,  and  not  merely  imitative— it  would  betray  the 
same  characteristic  absence  of  artificiality  and  sophistication,2 

This  suggestion  of  peasant  energy  pervades  the  whole  of  Act  I.  The 
sour  temper  of  Lucia,  the  farmer's  wife  (or  rather,  the  disastrous 
consequences  which  are  to  spring  from  this  blemish  which  stains  her 
character)  is  first  hinted  at  in  an  extremely  impressive  passage: 

Marmotte,  chefate?3 

A  few  touches  such  as  these  are  quite  sufficient  to  betray  the  hand 
of  a  great  artist:  the  initial  conception  is  broad  and  sweeping,  per 
fectly  developed,  and  unimpeded  by  a  cluttering  of  irrelevant  detail. 
The  composer,  clearly,  has  been  bold  enough  for  once  to  face  up  to 
the  challenge  of  boring  Ms  audience,  and  to  risk  not  pandering  to  the 
vulgar  urge  to  be  entertained  with  insignificant  witticisms.  The  result 
is  an  effect  which  is  truly  grandiose.4 

The  reply  which  Lucia  receives  when  she  enquires  for  her  husband: 

Tuomarito?  „..* 

together  with  the  little  aria  sung  by  Fabrizio,  a  cheery  old  gaffer,  as 
he  climbs  out  of  the  cellar  waving  a  bottle — all  this  section  is  pre 
eminently  merry,  rustic  and  thumping;  and,  stylistically,  more  and 
more  reminiscent  of  Haydn.  Once  again,  it  is  the  Magpie  who  is  made 

1  Ugly,  cursed  magpie,  may  the  arrow  Mt  you! 

2  This  opening  scene  of  Act  I  has  the  same  characteristic  flavour  that  one  meets 
in  the  poetry  of  George  Crabbe;  and  in  certain  passages,  it  has  something  of  the 
energetic  rhythms  of  Bums'  Ballads. 

8  Children,  what  are  you  doing? 

4  The  same  principle  applies  to  the  paintings  of  Correggio,  or  to  the  majority 
of  antique  marbles.  Some  definitions  of  the  Beautiful  are  equally  valid  for  all  the 
arts,  from  an  opera  buff  a  to  the  architecture  of  a  dungeon.  Grecian  pilasters  in  a 
dungeon  offer  consolation  ...  of  a  sort! 

5  Your  husband? 


264  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

to  reveal  to  the  spectators  the  young  conscript's  love  for  the  heroine; 
for  when  his  mother  declares : 

Egli  dee  sposar  ...1 
the  Magpie  bursts  in  with  a  squawk: 

Ninetta!  Ninetta! 
The  verve  and  brilliance  of  the  ensuing  tutti: 

NoiTudremo  narrar  con  diletto  ...2 

is  quite  astounding;  I  would  remark,  however,  that  the  less  a  com 
poser  is  concerned  to  sustain  an  atmosphere  of  dignity  and  distinc 
tion,  the  easier  it  is  for  him  to  keep  up  a  pitch  of  merriment,  vivacity 
and  general  brio.  Incidentally,  there  are  two  lines  in  this  passage 
which  have  a  fine  martial  ring  about  them: 

Or  d'orgoglio  brillar  lo  vedremo, 
Or  di betlapietd  sospirar  ,.,3 

Ninetta's  cavatina: 

Dipiacer  mi  baha  il  cor  ...4 

resembles  the  overture  in  being  one  of  Rossini's  finest  inspirations: 
is  there  indeed  anyone  who  is  not  familiar  with  it?  As  a  portrait  in 
music  of  the  boisterous  and  open-hearted  merriment  of  a  young 
country-wench,  it  is  perfect.  I  doubt  whether  Rossini's  genius  has 
ever  created  anything  more  glittering,  nor  at  the  same  time  more 
dramatic,  more  true,  or  in  closer  harmony  with  the  spirit  of  the 
libretto.  This  aria  has  all  the  forcefulness  of  Cimarosa,  with  some 
thing  else  that  Cimarosa  rarely  achieves,  namely,  dynamic  movement 
in  the  opening  bars. 

The  only  quarrel  one  might  pick  with  this  cantilena  might  be  to 
criticize  its  slightly  vulgar  and  bumptious  rusticity.  In  this  context,  it 
is  worth  observing,  that  whenever  Rossini  aims  at  deep  emotional 
sincerity,  he  is  obliged  to  return  to  his  older  technique  of  long  phrases 

1  He  must  many  ... 

2  We  shall  listen  to  Mm  tell  Ms  story  with  pleasure  ... 

3  Now  we  shall  see  Mm  glow  with  pride,  now  sigh  with  noble  sentiments  ... 

4  My  heart  is  dancing  with  pleasure  . . . 


LA  GAZZA  LADRA  265 

of  lilting  melody.  The  phrase  dipiacere  runs  for  eight  whole  bars ;  and 
such  an  extension  is  comparatively  rare  in  Rossinian  opera,1 

There  is,  however,  one  suggestion  of  emotional  sincerity,  intro 
duced  with  infinite  finesse;  this  occurs  in  the  line: 

Dio  d'amor,  confido  in  te  ...2 

just  before  the  double-bar.  With  a  generous  effort,  one  can  overlook 
the  crass  ineptitude  of  putting  the  words  God  of  Love  {dio  d'amor) 
into  the  mouth  of  a  fanner's  daughter.  The  librettist,  one  supposes, 
was  a  classicist.  When  Madame  Fodor  sang  this  cantilena  in  the  Paris 
production,  the  tone  of  her  voice  was  unexceptionable;  but  unfortun 
ately  its  pure  beauty  was  not  matched  by  any  comparable  sensitivity 
or  subtlety  in  the  expression.  Like  all  artists  of  mediocre  sensibility, 
whose  "inward  fire"  (as  the  painters  say)  bums  fitfully  and  low, 
Madame  Fodor,  in  her  interpretation  of  this  cavatina,  made  up  for  a 
beauty,  which  she  could  not  command,  by  display  of  opulence,  which 
she  could.  Armed  with  every  virtuoso  weapon  from  her  technical 
armoury,  she  so  peppered  the  composer's  fundamental  inspiration 
with  roulades  and  ornaments,  that  in  the  end  she  managed  to 
obliterate  it  completely.  O  notable  triumph!  If  Rossini  had  been 
present  to  hear  the  performance,  he  would  doubtless  have  told  her 
what  he  had  already  told  the  celebrated  Velluti  on  the  occasion  of  the 
premiere  of  Aureliano  in  Palmira  (Milan  1814):  Non  conosco  piu  le 
mie  ariel  "I  cannot  even  recognize  my  own  music!" 

A  natural  and  lively  feeling  for  dramatic  expression,  which  yet 
never  deviates  from  the  line  of  pure  beauty,  is  rare  enough  in 
Rossini  to  merit  respect  when  it  does  occur.  The  opening  phrase  of 
the  cantilena: 

Dipiacer  mi  balza  il  cor  ... 

should  be  sung  in  absolute  simplicity,  stripped  of  roulades,  and  in 
fact  barren  of  every  kind  of  ornament;  all  embellishments  of  this 
character  should  be  saved  up  for  the  end  of  the  aria,  when  Ninetta 
seems  to  be  contemplating  the  excess  of  her  own  happiness.  All 

1  A  single  bar  removed  from  Ninetta's  first  phrase  immediately  gives  the 
listener  the  impression  that  something  Is  missing;  I  can  think  of  hardly  anywhere 
else  in  Rossini's  work  (or  at  least  in  the  operas  belonging  to  his  "second  manner**) 
where  the  same  could  be  held  to  be  true,  except  in  certain  passages  in  waltz-time. 

2  God  of  love,  I  put  my  trust  in  you  ... 


266  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

manner  of  gay  and  gfittQirngfioriture  are  in  place  when  she  comes  to 
the  phrase: 

Ah!  gia  dimentico 

Imiei  tormenti  ...1 

— words  which  that  charming  little  singer,  la  Cinti,  pronounces  with 
so  tantalizing  and  so  irresistibly  provocative  an  accent! 

In  the  Milan  production,  this  and  similar  delicate  points  of  inter- 
pretation  were  perfectly  grasped  by  Madame  Belloc.  But  I  should 
merely  risk  boring  my  long-suffering  readers  if  I  were  to  describe  the 
further  tempests  of  enthusiasm  which  greeted  this  aria,  which  is  so 
simple,  so  natural  and  so  easy  to  understand.  It  marks  the  zenith  of 
perfection  in  the  rustic  tradition.  Indeed,  I  feel  sorry  that  the  scene 
is  not  set  in  Switzerland;  no  aria  could  fit  better  into  the  context  of 
an  opera  like  Lisbeth?  Spectators  in  the  pit  had  clambered  up  on  to 
their  benches,  and  had  called  upon  Madame  Belloc  to  give  them  an 
encore^  and  they  were  already  calling  for  yet  another  encore  of  this 
same  cavatina,  when  Rossini  intervened  in  person,  addressing  the 
front  rows  of  the  pit  from  his  seat  at  the  piano :  "Gentlemen,  the  part 
of  Ninetta  is  extremely  heavy;  and  if  you  continue  to  treat  Madame 
Belloc  in  this  inconsiderate  manner,  she  will  be  too  exhausted  to 
finish  the  opera".  This  argument,  which  was  repeated  from  mouth  to 
mouth,  and  argued  from  one  end  of  the  pit  to  the  other,  did  at  last, 
after  an  interruption  lasting  some  fifteen  minutes,  produce  an  effect. 
My  neighbours  on  either  hand  were  arguing  away  among  them 
selves  with  as  much  heat  and  sincerity  as  though  they  were  old 
acquaintances;  and  in  all  Italy  I  have  never  since  witnessed  such  fatal 
imprudence.  Spontaneous  discussion  of  this  type  gives  the  informer 
the  very  chance  he  is  hoping  for,  to  butt  in,  pick  a  side  in  the  argu 
ment,  and  later  denounce  the  contestants  to  the  police — only  too 
successfully! 

Following  this  cavatina,  which  breathes  all  the  joy  and  freshness  of 
the  forest,  we  tumble  right  back  into  the  very  meanest  squalor  of 
civilization,  dragged  thither  by  the  song  known  as  the  Jew's  aria,  a 

1  Ahl  Already  I  forget  my  torments  ... 

2  Lisbeth:  an  opera  which  was  immensely  popular  in  France  some  twenty  years 
ago,  tastefully  based  on  the  theme  of  an  unmarried  mother  deserted  by  her  lover! 
Rossini's  aria  should  be  compared  with  Weigl's  die  Schweizerfamilie,  a  master 
piece  of  Teutonic  "simplicity'  \  which,  however,  appeared  rather  too  naive  for 
the  taste  of  the  Milanese  in  1819. 


LA  GAZZA  LADRA  267 

piece  of  music  which  reeks  of  the  most  loathsome  race  on  earth,  the 
Polish  Jews;1  on  the  other  hand,  considered  purely  and  simply  as  an 
aria,  it  is  excellent.  All  the  sordid  realism  which  it  implies  is  re 
deemed  and  made  palatable  by  the  inspiration  of  Rossini's  wit  and 
ingenuity. 
The  chorus  which  heralds  Giannetto's  return: 

Bravo!  bravo!  ben  tomato!2 

holds  such  a  wealth  of  musical  ideas,  such  an  infinite,  inexhaustible 
luxuriancy*  (as  they  would  say  in  England)  of  genius,  that  I  find  it 
almost  impossible  to  conceive  its  existence.  On  the  other  hand,  when 
the  young  conscript,  arrayed  in  all  his  martial  glory,  returns  at  last  to 
his  native  village,  where  the  local  papers  have  just  published  an 
article  about  him  and  Ms  adventures,  the  aria  which  he  sings  is 
insipid  and  commonplace  in  the  extreme,  and  in  thoroughly  bad 
taste  into  the  bargain.  In  defiance  of  every  dictate  of  common  polite 
ness,  our  young  hero  goes  straight  away  to  look  for  his  mistress,  and 
then,  leaving  the  entire  village,  including  his  own  father  and  mother, 
standing  rather  uselessly  in  the  background,  he  proceeds  to  make  love 
to  her  under  their  very  noses.  Love,  the  most  fascinating  of  passions, 
is  utterly  debased  the  moment  it  loses  the  virtue  of  modesty. 
The  aria: 

Anco  alnemico  infaccia  ...4 

is  quite  agreeable  to  listen  to,  despite  its  fundamental  inanity  and 
pretentiousness.  But  what  was  really  required  at  this  point,  both  in 
the  passage: 

Ma  quelpiacer  che  adesso  ...5 

and  even  more  urgently  in  the  ntom^/fo-section  which  introduces  it, 
was  some  theme  which  was  both  joyous,  gentle  and  deeply  tender — 
the  diametrical  opposite  of  our  French  national  brand  of  swaggering 

1  To  my  mind,  the  Polish  Jews  are,  in  their  own  particular  province  of  activity, 
not  unlike  the  swindlers  who  plague  the  Kingdom  of  Naples;  the  blame,  the 
entire  responsibility  for  their  nefarious  activities,  belongs  to  the  respective  govern 
ments  of  the  two  countries  involved,  whose  short-sighted  policies  have  created 
such  individuals.  In  France,  ever  since  the  time  of  Napoleon,  the  Jews  have  come 
to  be  indistinguishable  from  all  other  members  of  the  community,  save  in  that 
they  are  slighSy  more  miserly. 

2  Oh,  excellent  fellow!  Excellent  fellow!  Welcome  back! 

s  In  English  in  the  original.  (Trans.)      *  Even  in  the  face  of  the  enemy  ... 
5  But  that  pleasure  which  now  ... 


268  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

and  volcanic  passion.  This  is  a  case  where  it  becomes  absolutely 
imperative  for  Rossini  to  have  at  his  disposal  a  Giannetto,  whose 
voice  can  supply  the  feeling,  the  depth  and  the  true  sincerity  which 
are  so  seriously  lacking  in  the  score.  It  would  be  best  if  Madame 
Pasta  could  take  the  part — and  not  only  this  one,  but  those  of  all  the 
maestro's  passionate  lovers;  her  own  personality  has  certainly  no 
less  a  contribution  to  make  towards  the  interpretation  of  these  roles 
than  that  which  it  has  made  already  in  the  case  of  Tancred. 
At  the  words: 

No,  non  m'inganno  ...j1 

which  Galli  sings  to  the  accompaniment  of  a  sweeping  movement 
downstage,  tragedy  steps  into  the  idyll,  and  joyousness  has  fled  for  ever. 
When  Rossini  composed  la  Gazza  ladra,  he  was  in  the  thick  of  a 
violent  quarrel  with  Galli,  who  had  successfully  supplanted  him  in 
the  favours  of  la  M***.  Now  Galli,  you  must  understand,  has  a 
magnificent  voice;  but  in  the  whole  of  his  range,  there  are  just  two  or 
three  notes  which  he  can  never  strike  perfectly,  unless  it  is  merely  a 
question  of  sliding  rapidly  across  them  in  some  transition  passage; 
if  he  is  obliged  to  dwell  upon  them,  he  invariably  strikes  them  out  of 
pitch.  Rossini  was  unable  to  resist  the  temptation  to  write  him  a 
recitative  (the  one  in  which  he  tells  his  daughter  about  the  quarrel  he 
had  with  the  Captain  of  his  regiment)  specially  contrived  to  compel 
Galli  to  spend  most  of  his  time  lingering  fondly  over  that  particular 
selection  of  notes  which  he  was  completely  unable  to  sing  properly. 
In  Paris,  whenever  he  came  to  the  passage: 

Sciagurato ! 
Ei  grida;  e  colla  spada 
Gia,  gid,  n£  e  sopra  ...,2 

this  singular  limitation  became  most  clearly  apparent,  and  Rossini's 
revenge  was  triumphantly  successful!  But  Galli,  who  can  sing  with 
magnificent  assurance  throughout  all  the  rest  of  the  range  of  his 
tremendous  voice,  had  a  fit  of  pig-headedness,  and  positively  refused 
to  alter  these  unsingable  notes  in  performance,  although  nothing 
could  have  been  easier  than  for  him  to  do  so.  His  querulous  obstin- 

1  No,  I  am  not  deceiving  myself ... 

2  Unfortunate  wretch  /be  cries  out;  and  straight  away  he's  at  me  with  Ixis 
sword ... 


LA  GA2ZA  LADRA  269 

acy  caused  him  therefore  to  muff  this  particular  entry  in  Rome  and 
in  Naples  just  as  much  as  in  Paris;  and  in  the  latter  city,  where 
musical  taste  is  highly  critical,  and  little  given  to  rapturous  surrender, 
preferring  cold  and  faultless  virtuosity1  to  the  sublimest  flights  of 
beauty  marred  by  a  slight  technical  imperfection  here  and  there  in 
the  execution,  Galli  never  enjoyed  the  unqualified  success  which 
should  have  been  his  by  right. 

The  derisive  gasps  from  the  audience  only  made  Galli  more  deter 
mined  than  ever  not  to  give  in,  and  he  refused  point-blank  to  alter 
the  ten  fatal  notes,  with  the  result  that  the  ensuing  nervous  appre 
hension  affected  the  quality  of  his  voice,  and  so,  in  spite  of  every 
effort  on  his  part,  this  entry,  the  opening  sequence  of  so  magnificent 
a  role,  was  always  ruined  by  the  intrusion  of  three  or  four  hesitant 
notes.  On  the  other  hand,  in  Naples,  when  Galli's  part  was  taken  by 
Nozzari,  this  particular  recitative  was  the  occasion  of  one  of  the 
latter's  most  notable  triumphs,  and  each  note  was  produced  with 
impeccable  purity  and  precision.  However,  as  soon  as  Galli  reached 
the  end  of  this  recalcitrant  section: 

Amico  mio9 
Ei  dfsse,  e  dir  non  piu  poteva;  Addio!2 

he  used  to  recover  his  confidence,  and  would  soon  rise  to  the  finest 
heights  of  tragic  acting. 

Incidentally,  it  is  absurd  that  Galli,  in  the  part  of  a  soldier  who  has 
deserted  from  his  regiment,  where  he  has  been  condemned  to  death, 
should  appear  on  the  stage  in  full  military  uniform,  scarcely  bother 
ing  to  attempt  to  conceal  it  beneath  his  greatcoat;  such  foolhardiness 
would  unquestionably  lead  to  his  immediate  arrest  as  a  runaway  by 
the  mayor  of  the  first  village  he  happened  to  pass  through!  This  is  a 
typical  problem  of  staging,  an  art  which  is  closely  allied  to  that  of 
painting.  If,  however,  as  the  libretto  requires: 

1  Magis  sine  vttiis  quam  cum  virtutibus.  A  voice  admirably  qualified  to  meet 
with  approval  in  Paris  in  the  year  1810  was  that  of  Signora  Barilli.  Since  that  date 
the  critical  faculties  of  the  average  Louvois  audience  have  been  immensely  sharp 
ened;  but  that  is  not  to  say  that  the  worthy  Signora  Barilli  would  not  still  enjoy 
a  very  real  popularity,  even  if  she  were  to  reappear  to-day.  The  number  of  persons 
in  Paris  whose  sense  of  musical  appreciation  has  been  genuinely  educated  may 
perhaps  have  risen  to  some  four  or  five  hundred;  and  these  may  now  claim  to  be 
as  expert  in  the  science  of  musical  appreciation  as  the  ten  thousand  regular  opera- 
goers  of  the  San-Carlo  and  la  Scala  theatres. 

2  "My  friend,"  he  said,  and  more  he  could  not  say;  "Farewell!" 


270  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

Ilprode  Ernesto 
Di  questi  cenci  mi  coper se  ..-,1 

Galli  were  to  appear  clad  in  beggar's-rags,  the  part  might  well  lose  in 
dignity  and  stature;  for,  in  all  opera,  it  is  essential  to  appeal  to  the 
eye.  In  real  life,  if  a  condemned  man  were  to  chance  upon  an 
unhoped-for  meeting  with  his  daughter,  he  (/.£?.,  Galli)  would 
certainly  have  not  less  than  two  or  three  thousand  words  to  say  to 
her;  but  in  opera,  selection  is  imperative;  and  it  is  the  function  of  the 
music,  having  selected,  out  of  all  this  mass  of  words,  not  more  than 
a  hundred  or  so,  to  make  them  convey  all  the  wealth  of  emotion 
which  would  otherwise  have  been  present  in  the  full  three  thousand. 
It  is  obvious,  therefore,  that  among  the  material  which  has  to  be  dis 
carded,  the  first  to  go  will  be  the  description  of  physical  detail;  and 
so,  logically,  the  opera  as  a  whole  must  supply  this  defect  by  speaking 
to  the  eye. 
The  duet  which  follows  this  recitative  by  Galli: 

Come frenar  il pianto  ...?2 

offers  a  superb  instance  of  stylistic  opulence.*  The  short  orchestral 
passage  which  follows  the  lines: 

j£  certo  il  mio  periglio; 
Solo  un  eterno  esiglio, 
O  Dio!  mi  pud  sahar  ...4 


1  The  valorous  Ernesto  covered  me  with  these  rags  ... 

2  How  can  I  refrain  my  lamentations  ...? 


8  Le.j  high-sounding  rather  than  truly  moving;  the  style  of  Paolo  Veronese  or 
of  Buffon.  It  is  a  style  whose  magnificence  represents  unadulterated  sublimity  to 
the  aesthetically  insensitive,  and  which  invariably  creates  a.  furore  in  the  Prov 
inces! 

Some  of  the  harmonies  in  the  opening  bars  of  this  duet  are  reminiscent  of  the 
introduzione  to  the  Barber.  Certain  sections  of  the  finale  of  Act  I  have  been  criti 
cized  on  the  same  grounds.  There  are  further  resemblances  to  be  noted  between 
the  aria  from  Mose  in  Egitto: 

Mi  manca  la  voce  ...f 
and  the  quintet: 

Un  padre,  unafiglia  ...J 

and  it  has  also  been  asserted  that  the  passage  which  follows  the  sentencing  of 
Ninetta  is  similar  to  a  chorus  from  la  Vestalei 

D&achez  ces  bandeaux  ...  § 
t  My  voice  fails  me  ...  J  A  father,  a  daughter  .„ 

§  Loosen  these  blindfolding  bandages  ... 

*  My  danger  is  certain;  only  an  eternal  exile,  O  God!  can  save  me  ... 
It  is  unthinkable  that  any  French  soldier  should  betray  (in  words,  in  any  case) 


LA  GAZZA  LADRA  271 

produces  a  truly  physical  sensation  of  terror.  But  after  the  phrase: 
Piii  barbaro  dolor  ..-1 

there  comes  a  brief  instant  of  genuine  tenderness. 
The  passage: 

Tremendo  desiino  ...,2 

which  occurs  in  the  duet,  towards  the  end  of  the  repeat,  is  over 
whelming  in  its  power  and  menace.  By  contrast,  in  the  concluding 
ritornello,  there  is  an  ephemeral  suggestion  of  idealism,  which,  by 
distracting  the  listener's  attention,  if  only  for  a  moment,  from  the 
sordid  brutality  of  the  tragedy,  brings  a  glimpse  of  respite. 
The  cavatina,  sung  by  the  Podesta: 

II  mio  piano  &  preparato  . .  .3 

is  a  brilliant  show-piece  for  a  first-rate  bass  voice.  When  it  was  sung 
in  Milan  by  Ambrosi,  the  very  power,  the  dynamic  violence  of  this 
remarkable  artist  had  the  positive  disadvantage  of  concentrating  the 
audience's  attention  with  unpleasant  singlemindedness  upon  the 
atrocious  character  of  the  Podestti.  Pellegrini,  who  sings  it  in  Paris, 
serves  the  requirements  of  the  opera  as  a  whole  much  better  by 
exploiting  every  facet  of  the  delicacy  and  miraculous  gracefulness  of 
which  his  delightful  voice  is  capable.  In  any  case,  given  its  context, 
the  whole  cavatina  is  far  too  long. 

The  scene4  in  which  the  Podestti,  who  has  lost  Ms  glasses,  hands 
Ninetta  the  official  description  of  the  deserter,  and  makes  her  read  it 
aloud,  is  rich  with  all  the  poignant,  breath-taking  suspense  of  melo 
drama:  it  is  a  scene  of  sordid  nastiness,  unrelieved  by  idealism  of  any 
description.  This  is  the  sort  of  thing  that  the  average  German  simply 
adores.  I  would  not  deny  its  dramatic  power;  but  as  it  proceeds,  the 
last  spark  of  comedy  is  extinguished  for  ever. 

The  trio  which  follows: 

such  an  abysmal  state  of  depressed  morale.  But  the  librettist  was  supremely 
indifferent  to  the  petty  nationalistic  vanity  of  the  land  in  which  his  scene  was  set, 
and  in  consequence  there  is  an  unfamiliar  ring  of  truth  about  Ms  portrait  of  human 
misery.  It  is  precisely  this  type  of  "crudity"  which  our  French  connoisseurs  have 
seen  fit  to  complain  of  in  the  paintings  of  Guercino. 

1  More  barbarous  sorrow  ... 

2  Tremendous  fate  ...          8  My  plan  is  prepared  ... 


272  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

Respiro — partite  ..-1 

is  sublime;  and  it  is  the  early  section  of  this  passage  which  contains 
the  masterly  prayer: 

Oh!  nume  benefico!* 

But  the  fact  is  that,  shortly  before,  Winter  had  produced  an  operatic 
version  (based  on  Voltaire's  tragedy)  of  the  story  of  Mahomet, 
which  contained  a  fine  prayer  for  the  combined  voices  of  Zopiro, 
who  is  praying  alone  in  the  depths  of  the  temple,  and  of  his  two 
children,  as  they  enter  downstage  with  the  mission  of  putting  him  to 
death.  In  consequence,  Rossini  insisted  that  the  librettist  should 
provide  him  with  a  prayer,  which  he  then  proceeded  to  set  con 
impegno. 

The  Podesta,  having  watched  the  soldier  depart,  and  believing  him 
self  to  be  unobserved,  addresses  Ninetta  in  the  following  words: 

Siamo  soli.  Amor  seconda 
Le  miefiamme,  i  voti  mfei. 
Ah!  se  barbara  non  sei, 
Fammi  a  parte  nel  tuo  cor!3 

This  is  superb  tragedy  (I  refer,  obviously,  to  the  music,  and  not  to  the 
words !) ;  and  the  trio  as  a  whole  deserves  every  laudatory  epithet  that 
has  yet  been  invented;  if  Rossini  had  written  this  and  nothing  else,  it 
would  alone  have  been  quite  sufficient  to  establish  his  reputation 
indisputably  and  for  ever  above  the  whole  host  of  his  competitors  in 
the  field  of  musical  composition. 
Fernando' s  re-entrance  is  as  violent  as  could  be  imagined : 

Freme  ilnembo  ... 

Uom  maturo  e  magistrate, 

Vi  dovreste  vergognar!* 

But  here,  as  elsewhere,  violence  and  frenzy  are  more  to  the  forefront 
than  dignity,  sensibility  or  artistic  refinement;  while,  in  the  orchestral 
score,  the  outstanding  characteristic  is  noise;  thus,  for  instance,  the 
passage: 

1  I  breathe  again—begone!  *  Oh!  Beneficent  God! 

8  We  are  alone.  O  love,  be  propitious  to  my  desires  and  my  supplications! 
Ah,  (Ninetta),  if  you  are  not  barbarously  cruel,  give  me  a  place  in  your  heart! 

4  The  cloud  trembles. ...  You,  a  man  of  years  and  a  magistrate!  You  should  be 
ashamed! 


LA  GAZZA  LADRA  273 

Non  so  quel  chefarei, 
Smanio,  deliro  efremo  ...1 

is  positively  volcanic.  In  this  section,  Rossini's  naturally  rapid  style 
seems  to  bring  added  fire  to  the  unbelievable  frenzy  of  the  orchestral 
score,  and  the  trio  as  a  whole  may  be  summed  up  as  one  of  the  finest 
things  that  the  composer  has  ever  written  in  this,  his  second  ('heavy') 
manner.  The  problem  of  voice-grouping  is  handled  with  infinite  skill; 
and  there  is  a  further  quality,  which  is  rare  enough  even  in  the  great 
est  music  ever  composed:  namely,  a  kind  of  progressive  development, 
managed  with  the  most  extraordinary  subtlety.  By  the  end  of  the 
trio,  in  some  mysterious  fashion,  one  has  actually  moved  forward 
from  the  original  starting-point. 

In  the  scene  immediately  following  comes  the  actual  episode  of  the 
Thieving  Magpie;  and  we  see  the  bird  flutter  across  the  stage  and  fly 
off  into  the  wings  with  the  fateful  spoon.  The  timing  of  this  scene  is 
excellent;  the  audience  is  too  deeply  moved  by  what  has  gone  before 
to  laugh  at  this  theatrical  trick;  and,  since  the  flight  is  completely 
unexpected,  no  one  has  time  to  wonder  how  it  is  worked.  Following 
the  great  tragic  sequence,  which  we  have  just  been  analysing  so 
imperfectly,  the  music  suddenly  recaptures  all  its  airy  lightness,  all 
its  inimitable  gaiety,  with  even  a  new  touch  of  elegance  hitherto  un- 
exploited — and  all  this  dances  accompaniment  to  the  interrogation 
ofpoorNinetta: 

In  casa  di  messere Fabrizio  ...2 

This  whole  section  is  delicious,  and  I  firmly  refuse  to  believe  that  any 
other  composer  living  could  have  so  much  as  attempted  anything  like 
it.  It  is  almost  fantastic  that  one  of  the  most  charming  cantilenas  ever 
written,  which,  for  sheer  beauty,  rivals  the  finest  achievements  of  the 
whole  art  of  music,  should  be  used  as  a  setting  for  what  is  precisely 
the  most  sordid  and  infamous  rejoinder  of  the  whole  trial-scene. 
When  the  young  conscript,  quite  correctly,  calls  attention  to  the  fact 
that  the  missing  object  has  been 

Rapito!  nOj  smarritofi 
the  Podesta,  with  peerless  melodic  suavity,  replies: 

1  I  do  not  know  what  I  should  do;  I  rave,  I  grow  delirious  and  tremble  ... 
8  In  the  house  of  Messer  Fabrizio  ...  8  Stolen?  No,  mislaid! 


274  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

Vuol  dir  lo  stesso!1 

In  truth,  this  light-hearted  insouciance,  this  delicious  and  positively 
monarchic  skittishness,  has  been  recorded  more  than  once,  in  recent 
years,  among  real  judges,  members  of  the  highest  social  circles,  who 
have  passed  elegant  death-sentences  upon  the  King's  enemies  to  the 
tune  of  some  flippant  little  witticism — or,  more  exactly,  without 
interrupting  for  one  single  instant  the  ceaseless,  merry  round  of  their 
perpetually  epicurean  and  nonchalant  existence.  Rossini's  music,  I 
feel,  would  be  admirably  suited  to  a  comedy  entitled  Charles  II2  or 
Henri  III,  where  the  dramatist,  in  order  to  depict  some  of  the  more 
prosperous  moments  of  the  reigns  of  these  two  sovereigns,  should 
have  drunk  at  the  same  source  of  inspiration  which  fired  Lemercier 
to  write  his  tragedy  entitled  Pinto. 

Some  of  my  readers  may  chance  to  have  been  born  in  lands  where 
justice  is  treated  with  universal  respect,  and  where  everyone  acknow 
ledges  such  a  state  of  affairs  as  not  only  right,  but  normal;  I  must 
therefore  digress  for  a  few  pages,  in  order  to  make  it  plain  to  such 
persons  that  Rossini  was  born  in  the  Romagna,  and  accustomed  to 
judges  appointed  directly  by  the  Church;  and  therefore,  that  every 
scene  and  every  line  that  he  gives  to  the  Podesta  in  la  Gazza  ladra  is 
a  faithful  and  realistic  portrait,  drawn  after  nature.  The  reason  why 
he  decorated  Ninetta's  interrogation  with  such  a  wealth  of  junketing, 
nonchalance  and  light-heartedness,  is  simply  that  he  was  making  a 
faithful  musical  sketch  of  his  chief  protagonist,  the  Judge,  who  was 
elderly,  bawdy,  merry  and  a  thorough-going  scoundrel  into  the 
bargain — and  further,  that  he  could  not  lose  sight  of  the  eventual 
denouement  of  his  opera,  which,  in  the  tradition  of  Metastasio,  was 
obliged  to  be  dilietofine.  When  I  was  in  Milan,  a  city  where  (between 
1797  and  1814)  Napoleon  had  brought  some  semblance  of  decency 
into  the  administration  of  justice,  I  actually  heard  Rossini  countering 
the  criticisms  which  were  being  levelled  against  his  Podesta  with  the 
greatest  of  good  humour:  "The  young  conscript,"  he  used  to  main 
tain,  "is  a  fool,  even  though  he  is  a  Frenchman.  Now,  /  have  never 
been  campaigning  and  tearing  standards  out  of  the  enemy's  hands; 

1  It  comes  to  exactly  the  same  thing! 

2  Vide  the  excellent  Memoirs  of  Mistress  Hutchinson;  the  reports  of  the  trial 
of  Sidney,  and  many  other,  similar  cases.  Vide  the  details  of  certain  French  trials, 
as  recounted  by  Voltaire.  Vide . . . 


LA  GAZZA  LADRA  275 

but  if  /  had  been  in  Ms  place,  and  if  it  had  been  my  mistress  who  was 
accused  of  theft,  I  should  have  cried  out:  I  stole  that  wretched  spoon! 
But,  you  see,  in  the  libretto  which  I  had  foisted  upon  me,  Ninetta, 
overwhelmed  by  the  circumstantial  evidence  marshalled  against  her, 
is  too  dismayed  to  answer  anything,  and  Giannetto  is  just  a  plain 
fool;  therefore  the  principal  character  in  my  finale  is  necessarily  the 
Judge,  who  is  a  rogue,  I  grant  you,  but  a  merry  one  for  all  that,  and 
who,  moreover,  has  not  the  least  serious  intention  of  condemning 
Ninetta;  all  he  is  after,  during  the  entire  course  of  the  interrogation, 
is  to  sell  his  verdict  of  'not  guilty'  at  a  thoroughly  handsome  profit, 
and  meanwhile  to  see  what  sort  of  a  price  he  can  get."1  What  Rossini 
(being  an  extremely  cautious  man,  and  clearly  mindful  of  the  fate  of 
Cimarosa)  did  not  add,  was:  "Go  and  stay  a  while  in  the  region 
where  I  was  born,  and  take  note  of  the  verdicts  which  are  delivered 
there  every  day.  Do  you  realize  that  you  are  quite  liable  to  be 
arraigned  before  the  authorities,  and  actually  brought  to  trial,  for 
the  crime  of  having  once  (say,  a  year  or  two  ago)  eaten  chicken  on  a 
Friday!  Every  Friday,  in  fact,  the  priests  send  out  spies  into  the  back- 
gardens  of  all  the  palazzi  to  hunt  for  chicken-bones  on  the  rubbish- 
heaps;  the  chamber-maid  cannot  receive  absolution  at  her  Easter 
confession  unless  she  denounces  secret  carcass-hoards  of  sacrilegi 
ously-consumed  fowls — and  you  know  as  well  as  I  do,  that  a 
wretched  chamber-maid  in  Imola  or  Pesaro  who  fails  to  make  her 
Easter  communion  is  a  doomed  woman!  Imagine  a  town  of  twenty 
thousand  inhabitants — take  Ferrara,  for  example — with  a  Com 
missioner  of  Police,  seven  or  eight  Assistant  Commissioners  of 
Police,  and  a  dozen  or  more  District  Superintendants  of  Police,  all 
as  busy  as  bees,  and  with  nothing  better  to  do  in  all  the  wide  world 
than  to  find  out  whether  Signor  ***  is  guilty  of  eating  chicken  on 
Fridays.  The  Papal  Legate,  his  Secretaries  and  Ms  Secret  Agents 
(whose  titles,  in  the  preceding  sentence,  I  have  translated  into  their 
better-known  equivalents)  are  all  priests,  and  the  civil  administration 
lies  entirely  in  their  hands;  but  they  are  obstructed  at  every  step  and 

1  Cf.  the  Podesttfs  lines : 

Ora  &  mia>  son  contento. 
Ah  /  sei  giunto,  felice  momenta; 
Lo  spavento  piegar  lafar&l\ 

f  Now  she  is  mine!  I  am  well  pleased.  Oh,  happy  instant,  have  you  come  at 
last?  Terror  will  compel  her  to  yield  to  me! 


276  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

hated  like  poison  by  the  ecclesiastical  authorities  proper,  the  Arch 
bishop  and  his  Grand- Vicars,  the  Canons,  etc.,  etc.,  who  are  all  the 
sworn  enemies  of  the  civil  administrative  hierarchy,  and  who  are 
perpetually  denouncing  its  members  to  the  Holy  See,  and  charging 
them  with  laxity  of  discipline.  One  solitary  denunciation  of  this  char 
acter  can  hold  up  a  Legate's  promotion  to  Cardinal  at  the  next 
vacancy.  But:  every  one  of  these  powerful  and  conflicting  interests, 
every  one  of  these  bitter  rivalries,  every  one  of  these  counsels  of 
prudence  can  be  reconciled  and  satisfied  by  the  simple  measure  of 
denouncing  some  poor  devil  of  an  inhabitant  of  Ferrara  who  has 
succumbed  to  the  temptation  of  eating  chicken  of  a  Friday  1"  ...  I 
could  fill  twenty  pages  with  solid  corroborative  detail,  and  my  only 
embarrassment  would  be  to  tone  down  the  garishness  of  the  colours 
and  to  understate  the  truth;  but  I  should  hate  to  stumble  into  such  a 
sordid  mire  of  filth,  which  would  indeed  be  the  most  disastrous  of 
calamities  for  a  book  whose  object  is  entirely  frivolous.1  Nevertheless, 
the  ultimate  conclusion  to  be  drawn  from  all  the  anecdotes  which  I 
could  retail  concerning  the  Romagna  would  always  be  the  same: 
namely,  that  Rossini,  by  decking  out  his  licentious  Podestd  in  such  an 
incredible  garb  of  nonchalant  urbanity,  had  absolutely  no  intention 
of  concocting  some  atrocious  epigram  in  the  style  of  Juvenal.  Gener 
ally  speaking,  it  is  very  rare  indeed  in  Italy  for  scoundrelism  to  be 
denounced  in  writing;  the  literary  result  would  tend  to  be  both 
depressing  and  in  bad  taste — and,  worst  of  all,  platitudinousl 

The  unresponsive  character  of  Ninetta's  despicable  lover  emerges 
very  clearly  in  the  song: 

Tu  dunque  set  real 
(Ed  io  la  credea 
Uistessa  onesta)  ...2 

All  the  nonsensical  sickliness  which  the  silly,  sentimental  soul  of  the 
average  shopkeeper  in  the  rue  Saint-Denis  finds  so  lavishly  echoed  in 

1  If  the  foundations  of  my  argument  should  be  attacked,  I  may  well  resort  to 
publication,  and  give  the  world  a  few  details  of  one  or  two  specific  cases,  from 
which,  at  present,  I  am  content  to  draw  conclusions  of  a  general  nature.  Inci 
dentally,  this  sort  of  behaviour  was  the  normal  state  of  affairs  under  the  "moder 
ate**  government  of  Cardinal  Consalvi !  Vide:  Laorens,  Tableau  de  Rome;  Simond; 
Gorani,  etc. 

2  So  you  are  guilty,  then!  (And  I  believed  her  to  be  the  very  soul  of  honesty!) 


LA  GAZZA  LADRA  277 

his  beloved  melodrama,  gushed  forth  in  a  mighty,  oozing  stream 
when  Ninetta  allows  herself  to  be  stricken  dumb — 

Non  v*  e piu  speme  ...l 

— just  because  the  Jew  asserts  that  on  a  certain  piece  of  silverwear 
which  she  had  sold  him,  he  had  noticed  some  letters  engraved: 
an  F  and  a  V.  This  happens,  of  course,  just  after  she  had  chanced  to 
remark  that  her  father's  name  was  Fernando  Villabella,  whence, 
logically,  the  Podestd  has  concluded  that  the  man  who  was  with  her 
just  now,  and  for  whose  sake  she  had  read  out  a  false  description 
from  the  official  form,  was  this  same  father  in  person.  Heaven  forbid 
that  Ninetta  should  frustrate  the  poor  dramatist  by  employing  so 
unworthy  a  stratagem  as  simply  to  say  in  plain  language:  This  set  of 
spoons  and  forks  was  given  to  me  by  my  father,  and  the  letters  F  V 
form  his  cypher!  The  wretched  maiden  would  rather  die!  The  most 
disastrous  feature  of  this  libretto  is  that  every  character,  without 
exception,  is  fundamentally  banal.  It  is  to  be  observed  that  here  at 
least  we  have  one  defect  which  is  never  to  be  met  with  in  German 
opera,  where  there  is  always  something  to  feed  the  imagination. 

None  the  less,  this  first-act  finale  is  full  of  movement,  of  entrances 
and  exits  which  capture  the  audience's  interest  straight  away.  It 
contains  plenty  of  solo  passages,  and  a  number  of  charming  little 
ensembles9,  and  the  grouping  is  such  that,  given  the  size  of  the  canvas, 
the  arrangement  of  all  the  separate  elements  upon  it  could  hardly  be 
better.  The  dialogue  itself  is  adequate;  I  could  wish  it  the  reverse, 
with  a  situation  finely  and  naturally  contrived,  and  the  words  as 
absurd  as  you  could  wish — for  who  ever  pays  the  slightest  attention 
to  the  words  in  an  opera?  In  Naples,  this  finale  came  in  for  a  certain 
amount  of  criticism  on  account  of  its  length;  but  the  Milanese,  more 
patient  by  nature,  seemed  to  enjoy  it.  Personally,  I  would  tend  to  side 
with  the  good  people  of  Milan.  Stylistically,  the  music  is  energetic, 
powerful  and  natural;  yet,  remarkably  enough,  it  never  loses  its  rustic 
character,  save  during  the  course  of  a  few  delightful  bars  at  the  open 
ing  of  the  interrogation.  As  a  whole,  this  Act  I  finale  reminds  me 
repeatedly  of  that  highly  individual  note  of  gaiety  which  pervades 
the  Autumn  movement  of  Haydn's  The  Seasons,  where  he  sets  out  to 
depict  the  rollicking  merriment  of  the  grape-harvest. 
1  There  is  no  hope  left ... 


278  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

If  Mozart  had  had  the  making  of  ihlsfina/e,  it  would  have  been 
atrocious,  intolerable;  for  he  would  unerringly  have  fastened  on  to 
the  underlying  tragic  implications  of  the  theme.  His  gentle  nature, 
without  fail,  would  have  driven  him  to  take  the  part  of  Ninetta,  and 
through  her,  of  all  oppressed  and  downtrodden  humanity,  instead  of 
concentrating  upon  the  Podesta  and  his  plots,  which,  after  all,  are 
licentious  rather  than  bloodthirsty,  as  is  only  too  clearly  indicated 
in  the  final  lines  which  he  utters  before  his  exit: 

Ah9  la  gioja  mi  brilla  nel  senol 
Piu  non  perdo  si  dolce  tesorP- 

1  Ah!  Joy  glows  in  my  breast!  Never  more  shall  Hose  so  sweet  a  treasure ! 

This  character,  the  Podesta,  has  been  wittily  and  powerfully  drawn  by  Duclos 
in  his  novel,  la  Baronne  de  Luz.  Duclos*  licentious  judge  is  named  Thiiring;  the 
version  of  the  same  character  whom  we  meet  in  la  Gazza  ladra  should  be  played 
with  a  heavy  admixture  of  farce,  which,  however,  no  Italian  actor  has  the  courage 
to  attempt  before  the  cold  and  disdainful  audiences  of  Paris,  to  whom  low  comedy 
is  simply  incomprehensible.  It  is  essential  to  bring  out  the  bacchic  side  of  his 
character. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

La  Gazza  ladra  (continued) 

ACT  TWO 


i 


N  PARIS,  every  face  that  you  pass  in  the  street  is  subtly  and 
fascinatingly  alive  with  some  slight  suggestion  of  passion;  most 
usually,  in  the  middle-aged  male,  it  is  preoccupied  egoism;  amongst 
the  younger  men,  a  carefully-cultivated  hint  of  military  ardour; 
among  women,  the  desire  to  appear  attractive,  or  at  the  very  least  to 
show  plainly  the  class  of  society  to  which  they  belong.  An  expression 
which  is  very  rarely  encountered  is  one  of  boredom;  for  boredom,  in 
Paris,  would  merely  seem  absurd,  and  is  to  be  detected,  alternating 
with  an  expression  of  downright  bad  temper,  exclusively  upon  the 
countenances  of  foreigners,  or  of  travellers  newly-returned  from 
abroad.  Finally,  there  is  one  expression  which  is  never,  never  be 
trayed;  and  that  is  one  which  reveals  some  deep  and  sombre  emo 
tional  disturbance.  In  Italy,  on  the  other  hand,  it  is  common  enough 
— in  fact,  only  too  common — to  observe  a  face  seamed  with  the 
ravages  of  boredom;  and  boredom,  in  this  context,  means  the  simple 
absence  of  any  sensations  whatsoever.  Likewise,  one  may  occasionally 
remark  the  signs  and  symptoms  of  a  joy  bordering  close  upon  mad 
ness;  and^  fairly  frequently,  the  revealing  scars  of  dark  and  deep- 
seated  passions.  In  consequence,  when  the  citizen  of  Paris  takes  his 
seat  at  the  opera,  he  comes  with  a  mind  exhausted,  worn  out  during 
the  long  day  by  a  thousand  shifting  preoccupations;  whereas  the 
citizen  of  Parma  or  Ferrara  brings  to  his  pleasures  a  spirit  which, 
having  remained  blank  and  unruffled  since  early  dawn,  is  pure,  fresh 
and  virginal;  and  yet,  this  same  spirit,  when  roused,  is  capable  of 
housing  the  most  violent  emotions  of  which  the  human  soul  can 
become  conscious.  Walking  along  the  streets,  the  Italian  treats  his 
fellow-pedestrians  with  the  profoundest  disdain;  or  else  he  simply 
fails  to  notice  them.  But  the  Frenchman  deliberately  courts  their 
good  opinion. 


280  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

You  cannot  have  your  cake  and  eat  it.  The  Parisian,  from  the  first 
instant  when  he  steps  abroad  in  the  early  morning,  finds  himself 
entangled  in  a  hundred  different  webs  and  worries,  and  his  soul 
obsessed  by  a  hundred  ephemeral  passions.  But  in  any  typical  little 
Italian  provincial  town,  nothing  (since  the  day  of  Napoleon's  down 
fall)  ever  has  nor  ever  will  come  to  trouble  the  deathly  stillness, 
unless  it  be,  perhaps  once  in  six  months,  the  arrest  of  some  unfortun 
ate  carbonaro.  Herein,  I  believe,  lies  the  philosophical  explanation  of 
the  frenzied  artistic  furores  which  occur  so  often  south  of  the  Alps, 
and  never  at  all  in  France.  Not  only  are  the  souls  of  men  in  the  South 
filled  with  a  fiercer-burning  fire;  but  this  same  fire  is  intensified  by 
being  rarely  kindled.  We  in  France  have  ten  different  species  of 
amusement  to  while  away  our  evenings;  but  the  Italian  has  one  only: 
music.  On  the  Parisian  stage,  a  play  is  deemed  to  have  scored  a 
"resounding  triumph"  the  moment  it  inspires  the  dilettanti  with 
sufficient  curiosity  to  come  and  criticize  it,  thereby  arming  themselves 
with  sufficient  store  of  conversation  to  dine  out  on  for  a  whole 
month;  the  main  attraction  is  invariably  this  delight  in  criticizing — 
never  the  more  primitive  pleasure  of  surrender,  whether  to  tears  or 
ecstasy.1 

By  contrast,  among  the  good  townsfolk  of  Milan,  tears  and  ecstasy 
were  the  all  but  universal  reaction  at  the  premiere  of  la  Gazza  ladra. 
The  audience  was  almost  wholly  concerned  with  its  own  delight  and 
its  own  reactions,  and  scarcely  had  a  thought  to  spare  for  Rossini's 
reputation.  But  after  the  first-act  finale,  the  opening  scenes  of  Act  II 
seemed  rather  insipid,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  the  part  of  Pippo  was 
played  by  Signorina  Gallianis,  a  young  actress  possessed  of  a  remark 
ably  dignified  presence  and  of  a  magnificent  contralto  voice,  which 
was  heard  to  best  advantage  in  the  duet: 

Ebben,  per  mia  memorta, 
Lo  serberai  tu  stesso  ...*2 

— a  song  which  Pippo  sings  with  Ninetta  when  he  comes  to  see  her  in 
prison.  There  are  moving  passages  here  and  there  in  the  episodes 

1  The  pure  and  primitive  reaction  to  drama  as  such  is  unknown  among  the 
present  generation,  save  in  the  popular  theatres  of  the  Porte-Satnt-Martin,  the 
Gaiet^  etc. 

2  Very  well,  then,  in  memory  of  me  you  may  keep  it  yourself ... 


LA  GAZZA  LADRA  281 

Fin  die  mi  batte  il  cor  . .  .1 
and 

Vedo  in  quegli  occhi  ilpianto  ...;2 

but,  towards  the  end  of  the  duet,  the  effect  is  unfortunately  marred 
by  some  loud  and  intrusive  orchestral  hammering,  which  has  the 
undesirable  consequence  of  directing  the  listener's  attention  to 
the  technical  means  by  which  the  result  is  achieved,  precisely  at  the 
moment  when  he  feels  the  strongest  urge  to  surrender  blindly  to  his 
own  melancholy  sensations.  This  duet  invariably  conjures  up  in  my 
mind  a  picture  of  a  certain  kind  of  emotionally  unresponsive  person, 
who  conscientiously  assumes  a  wan  and  tearful  expression  whenever 
the  situation  seems  to  require  it;  individuals  of  this  character  always 
react  to  tragic  surroundings  by  taking  a  firm  resolution  to  do  the 
correct  thing,  and  to  look  as  miserable  as  possible. 

After  hearing  Miss  Stephens  sing  in  London,  it  occurred  to  me  that 
Rossini  should  have  written  this  passage  in  the  traditional  style  of 
English  vocal  music.  English  music  escapes  almost  completely  from 
the  tyranny  of  the  metrical  bar-line;  it  reminds  me  of  the  sound  of  a 
horn  far,  far  away  in  the  depths  of  the  night,  where  some  of  the  inter 
mediate  notes  are  lost  in  the  infinite  distance;  I  have  never  heard 
anything  more  profoundly  thrilling;  and  in  particular,  I  know  no 
thing  more  diametrically  opposed  to  the  rest  of  the  music  of  la  Gazza 
ladra. 

The  Podestd's  aria,  and  more  especially,  the  chorus  into  which  it 
merges  at  the  conclusion,  might  have  made  the  reputation  of  any 
composer  less  renowned  already  than  Rossini;  but  unfortunately  I 
cannot  make  the  same  claim  for  Giannetto's  duet: 

Forse  un  dl  cono  seer  etc  ...3 

Judging  by  the  overpowering  stench  of  vulgarity  which  is  apparent 
here  and  there  in  some  of  these  cantilenas,  one  is  strongly  tempted  to 
believe  that  Rossini's  chief  ambition  had  been  to  transform  himself 
lock,  stock  and  barrel  into  a  Germanic  composer,  and  to  write 
music  like  Weigl  or  Winter.  Consequently,  la  Gazza  is  nowhere  as 
popular  as  in  Germany;  in  Darmstadt,  for  instance,  its  defects  pass 
unnoticed  (and  perhaps  some  of  its  qualities  too) ;  whereas  Tancredi 

1  So  long  as  my  heart  beats  ...  &  I  see  tears  in  those  eyes  ... 

8  Perhaps  one  day  you  will  know  .., 


282  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

is  looked  down  on  as  "miniature  music".  The  worthy  Teuton  needs  to 
be  struck  with  a  sledge-hammer  before  he  shows  any  reaction! 

The  entry  of  the  deserter  brings  back  into  the  second  act  some 
thing  of  the  dark  and  smouldering  fires  which  had  burned  in  the 
heart  of  the  first.  Galli's  interpretation  of  the  whole  of  the  concluding 
part  of  the  drama  is  a  magnificent  piece  of  tragic  acting,  as  great  as 
anything  by  de*  Marini  or  Iffland.  Here  in  France,  we  have  no  actor 
whose  genius  lies  anywhere  near  this  particular  field;  even  the  great 
Talma  is  conspicuously  mediocre  in  a  play  like  Falkland,  or  in  a  part 
like  that  of  Meinau  in  Misanthropic  et  Repentir. 

Galli's  aria: 

Oh  colpo  impensato!1 

is  distinctly  commonplace.  Rossini,  realizing  that  Galli  was  having 
an  unsuccessful  season  in  Naples,  promptly  made  up  his  quarrel  with 
his  ex-rival,  and  wrote  him  this  aria,  which  is  admirably  suited  to  the 
peculiar  range  of  his  voice. 
The  opening  section  of  the  recitative: 

Che  vuol  dire  quelpianto?2 
is  perfectly  adequate,  and  the  words: 

M'investe,  rrfassale  ...3 

are  clothed  in  an  atmosphere  of  genuine  tragic  despair.  The  line: 
Per  te,  dolcefiglia  ...4 

is  illuminated  with  a  lustrous  iridescence  of  pure  and  wondrous 
idealism ;  but  in  bitter  contrast,  the  setting  of 

Perchd  arnica  speme  . .  .?5 

is  abominable;  it  is  downright  bad  Rossini,  totally  lacking  in  true 
pathos,  but  tricked  out  instead  with  a  glitter  of  spurious  embellish 
ment  fit  only  for  the  concert-platform;  moreover,  to  add  insult  to 
injury,  these  tinselly  decorations  are  simply  borrowed  wholesale 
from  the  tradition  of  the  opera  buffa* 

*  Oh  unexpected  blowl  *  What  does  this  weeping  mean? 

1  He  knocks  me  down,  assails  me  ...         4  For  you,  sweet  daughter 

5  Why  friendly  hope  ...  ? 

8  This  passage  provides  a  striking  instance  of  the  most  serious  defect  which 
tends  to  mar  Rossini's  "second  manner";  he  writes  his  arias  first,  and  then 
proceeds  to  sprinkle  them  with  whatever  series  of  embellishments  may  chance  to 
fall  best  within  the  repertoire  of  his  singer. 


LA  GAZZA  LADRA  283 

However,  the  aria  concludes  upon  a  fine  tragic  note  with  the 
words: 

Scoperto,  avvilito, 
Proscrftto,  inseguito  ...-1 

Zuchelli  is  magnificent  in  his  rendering  of  this  scene;  we  are  made  to 
feel,  quite  sincerely,  that  we  are  listening  to  the  natural  language  of  a 
tormented  soul  in  despair.  The  public  has  still  to  realize  the  full 
extent  of  the  greatness  of  this  singer. 

To  judge  by  the  style  in  which  Rossini  composed  this  "reconcili 
ation  aria"  for  Galli,  I  suspect  that  he  may  still  have  been  secretly 
sulking  a  little.  Musicologists  hasten  to  point  out  (as  though  they 
had  just  spotted  something  really  new  and  original)  that,  towards  the 
concluding  section  of  this  number,  the  orchestral  accompaniment 
rises  considerably  higher  than  the  line  of  the  vocal  melody,2  without, 
however,  drowning  the  voice;  when  scholars  take  to  applauding  such 
nursery-tricks  as  proof  of  "inventive  originality",  the  awareness 
grows  upon  one  unmistakably  that  musicology,  as  an  exact  science, 
is  still  in  its  swaddling-clothes! 

The  Judges*  chorus: 

Tremate,  o popoll  .../3 

is  superb;  it  achieves  the  supreme  ambition  of  the  "Grand  Manner" 
in  music:  it  inspires  Terror*4*  In  fact,  the  effect  of  this  chorus  is  so 
overwhelming  that,  even  in  the  Theatre  Louvois,  I  have  never  heard 
a  single  sacrilegious  guffaw  at  the  absurd  sight  of  an  Assize  Court  in 
full  session,  ceremonially  arrayed  in  sweeping  legal  regalia,  standing 
up  and  singing  at  the  top  of  its  voice!  This  passage  has  been  criti 
cized  on  the  grounds  of  a  certain  resemblance  with  one  of  the 

1  Discovered,  dejected,  proscribed,  pursued  ... 

2  This  trick  of  raising  the  accompaniment  above  the  line  of  the  vocal  melody  is 
a  device  which  Rossini  employs  time  and  time  again,  and  which  ensures  that  the 
accompaniment,  however  over-orchestrated,  win  not  drown  the  singer.  By  contrast, 
Mozart  very  frequently  fails  to  avoid  this  danger,  for  instance,  in  the  aria: 

Batti,  batti,  o  bel Mazetto  ...f 
from  Don  Giovanni, 

t  Strike,  strike,  O  handsome  Mazetto! 

3  Tremble,  O  peoples! 

4  Even  the  least  sophisticated  can  feel  the  full  force  of  this  particular  passion- 
witness  Bossuefs  Sermonsl  In  1520,  for  every  person  who  had  learnt  to  appreci 
ate  Raphael,  there  were  a  hundred  who  were  instinctively  terrified  by  Michel 
angelo.  Canova  would  have  made  no  impression  whatsoever  upon  the  average 
dilettante  of  the  year  1520. 


284  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

choruses  from  Gluck's  Orfeo ;  personally,  however,  I  should  prefer  to 
believe  that,  if  it  is  imitated  from  anywhere,  it  is  modelled  rather  on 
Haydn. 

The  entry  of  Ninetta  and  the  reading  of  tfre  death-sentence  are  two 
terrible  instants  which  I  will  gladly  forbear  to  recall  to  the  reader's 
imagination — indeed,  I  would  be  only  too  thankful  if  I  could  finish 
my  analysis  of  la  Gazza  ladra  altogether  at  this  point;  but  that  would 
mean  doing  less  than  justice  to  Rossini. 

The  phrase: 

Gia  d'intorno 
Ulular  la  morte  ascolto  ...1 

is  enough  to  freeze  the  blood  in  one's  veins,  especially  the  word 
ulular;  I  can  well  believe  that  the  more  nervous  members  of  the  audi 
ence  tend  to  feel  faint.  Galli's  entrance  on  the  line : 

0  l&lfermate  ...2 

is  sublime.  We  in  France  have  beheld  nothing  comparable  in  our  own 
theatre  (with  the  solitary  exception  of  Mademoiselle  Mars)  since  the 
days  of  Monvel.  Yet  in  Italy,  I  have  seen  both  de'  Marini  and  especi 
ally  la  Pallerini,  work  up  just  as  much  dramatic  tension;  and  Iffland, 
playing  in  Berlin  in  1817,  had  certainly  one  or  two  climaxes  which 
would  have  borne  comparison  with  this  great  entry  of  Galli's. 

As  a  general  rule,  in  moments  of  acute  dramatic  tension,  recitative 
alone  is  quite  sufficient;  whereas  a  cantilena  would  be  seriously  out 
of  place.  The  next  words  which  Galli  utters  furnish  a  startling  proof 
of  this  paradoxical  truth,  which  is  so  contrary  to  popular  belief: 

Son  vostro  prigionero, 
II  capo  mio  troncate* 

1  Already,  on  every  side,  I  can  hear  death  howlingl  *  Ho,  there!  Stop! 

*  I  am  your  prisoner;  cut  off  my  head  (but  do  not  shed  the  blood  of  a  poor  and 
innocent  girl  who  is  incapable  of  defending  herself).  Fine  words,  undoubtedly;  but 
what  should  have  been  said  is  simply:  "I  gave  my  daughter  a  set  of  silver  spoons 
and  forks  to  sell;  organize  a  search  for  these  objects,  etc.  ..."  Of  course,  I  shall 
now  be  accused  of  behaving  myself  like  a  typical  French  literary  critic,  for  having 
launched  a  wild  assault  upon  a  wretched  little  Italian  libretto.  But  there  is  a 
distinction;  for  the  main  object  of  the  philippics  which  these  learned  literary 
gentlemen  hurl  so  mercilessly  at  the  target  of  their  scorn  and  contempt,  lies  in  the 
words  (witness  the  cruel  thunderbolts  of  Jove-like  anger  hurled  by  le  Miroir 
against  poor  Taddeo's  Cray  era!  in  Vltaliana  in  Algeri);  whereas  /,  on  the  other 
hand,  object,  not  to  badly-wrkten  dialogue,  but  to  badly-contrived  dramatic 
situations.  All  the  dialogue  of  every  libretto  invariably  seems  to  me  to  be  excellent, 


LA  GAZZA  LADRA  285 

When  an  audience  is  really  moved,  I  believe  its  faculties  are  so 
preternaturally  sharpened  that  it  can  detect  with  unerring  accuracy 
the  genuine  echo  of  Nature.  At  this  pitch  of  emotion,  an  audience 
may  grow  dangerous;  for,  if  Art  should  seek  to  embellish  Nature 
with  any  of  its  usual  tricks  and  subterfuges,  it  is  liable  to  vomit  them 
back  in  disgust.1 
In  the  two  terrible  lines: 

Uuno  in  carcere, 

E  Valtro  sul  patibok!* 

sung  by  the  Judges  in  chorus  and  by  the  Praetor,  with  all  the  impres- 
siveness  of  a  vast  concourse  of  bass  voices,  Rossini's  music  rises  to 

for  the  simple  reason  that  I  never  listen  to  it.  I  confess  that  I  have  read  the  text  of 
la  Gazza  ladra  for  the  first  time  now,  while  actually  engaged  in  writing  this  present 
analysis;  for  here,  unfortunately,  I  have  no  better  means  at  my  disposal  for 
indicating  specific  passages  of  Rossini's  music  than  to  refer  to  the  words  which 
happen  to  go  with  them.  It  would  have  seemed  oddly  pretentious  if,  instead  of 
simply  quoting  a  line  of  text,  I  had  filled  the  footnotes  at  the  bottom  of  each  page 
with  snatches  of  melody  set  out  in  musical  notation  every  time  I  wanted  to 
identify  a  specific  aria. 

Beginning  with  the  middle  of  Act  I,  the  whole  of  the  latter  part  of  la  Gazza  is 
gloom  and  unbelievable  despondency;  and,  for  light  relief,  we  are  offered  horror— 
the  Podesta  in  the  prison-scene,  for  instance,  making  indecent  proposals  to 
Ninetta.  Sedaine  once  treated  a  similar  subject  in  le  Dherteur:  but  he  escaped 
this  black  and  melodramatic  pitfall  by  creating  the  character  of  Montauciel,  who 
represents  one  of  the  boldest  and  most  difficult  dramatic  experiments  ever 
attempted  in  the  French  theatre.  Rossini  deserved  to  meet  a  Sedaine.  Indeed,  had 
fate  decreed  that  the  inspired  little  stone-mason  [Sedaine]  should  have  been  bom 
a  gentleman  of  leisure  with  a  private  income  of  two  hundred  louis  a  year,  French 
literature  would  certainly  have  numbered  one  further  genius  in  its  ranks. 

The  wrongs  inflicted  by  chance  might,  in  this  case,  easily  have  been  repaired  by 
intelligent  protection  accorded  by  the  Minister  in  power  at  the  time;  by  rights, 
every  one  of  Sedaine's  libretti  should  have  earned  him  at  least  6,000  francs.  As  it 
was,  he  had  the  greatest  dicuffilty  even  in  getting  himself  elected  to  the  Academie 
Fran$aise.  In  all  the  realm  of  art,  I  know  nothing  quite  so  futile  as  the  kind  of 
"protection"  which  is  normally  accorded  by  wealthy  philistines  ...  unless  it  be 
the  establishment  ofAcademiesl  The  outstanding  members  of  our  own  particular 
Academie,  which  all  but  refused  to  admit  Sedaine,  were  Marmontel  and  La  Harpe; 
be  judge  yourselves,  then,  what  the  rest  were  like! 

1  This  is  the  secret  and  fundamental  explanation  of  the  hostility  shown  by  the 
Romantic  dramatists  towards  the  alexandrine,  and  of  their  refusal  to  accept  it  as 
the  basic  metrical  form  of  tragedy.  Racinian  dramatic  verse  is  perpetually  intro 
ducing  minor  distortions  into  the  simple  and  indivisible  truth  of  the  utterances  of 
human  emotion.  But  a  hundred  and  fifty  years  of  philosophic  enquiry  have  at  last 
taught  us  the  secret  of  these  utterances.  Racine's  distortions  are  perpetrated  in  the 
name  of  "ornamentation";  but  this  particular  evidence  of  genius,  which  was  so 
rigorously  exacted  by  the  conventions  of  1670,  is  repugnant  to  those  of  1823.  Our 
taste  insists  upon  a  far  more  faithful  reproduction  of  nature;  Schiller's  Wilhelm 
Tell,  in  a  prose  translation,  gives  us  much  greater  satisfaction  than  Racine's 
Iphig&ue  en  Aulide. 

3  Take  the  one  off  to  prison,  the  other  to  execution. 


286  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

the  same  heights  of  menacing  solemnity  as  the  words;  and  in  the 
passage  which  follows : 

Un  padre )  unafiglia 


A  tante  sciagure 
Chi  mat  reggerti!1 

Galli's  performance,  which  never  fails  to  leave  a  lasting  impression, 
even  in  Paris,  was  magnificent  beyond  all  description.  This  outstand 
ing  scene,  the  most  powerful  in  the  whole  of  modern  Italian  opera, 
and  the  most  compelling  thing  by  far  that  Rossini  himself  has  ever 
created,  finishes  on  a  worthy  note  with  the  passage: 
Ah!  neppur  Vestremo  amplesso, 
Questo  e  troppa  crtideltd.2 

At  this  point  I  feel  that  I  must  rally  to  the  defence  of  Rossini  with 
a  general  statement  of  principle,  which  is,  that  the  speed  of  music  in 
waltz-time  is  symbolically  expressive  of  the  overpowering  and  inevit 
able  speed  with  which  the  hammer  of  destiny  may  fall  and  strike. 
Among  all  the  immediate  sensations  of  a  wretch  condemned  to  die 
within  the  hour,  none  is  more  terrifying  and  more  intolerable  than 
this  obsessive  experience  of  the  phenomenon  of  speed. 

And  if  the  rhythm  of  the  waltz  has  come,  in  our  convention,  to  be 
used  as  a  dance-measure,  that  is  no  fault  of  the  music.  In  thirty  years* 
time,  this  ephemeral  fashion  may  have  died  away;  but  the  symbolism 
of  the  hurrying  passage  of  time  is  eternal. 

This  argument  alone  seems  to  me  to  afford  sufficient  justification 
for  the  various  passages  in  waltz-rhythm  which  are  freely — indeed, 
almost  liberally — scattered  throughout  the  second  act  of  la  Gazza 
ladra;  on  the  other  hand,  however,  no  argument  in  all  the  world 
could  serve  to  justify 

Sino  ilpianto  e  negato  al  mio  ciglio, 
Entro  il  seno  s'arresta  il  sospir. 
Dio  possente,  mercede,  consiglio! 
Tu  m'aita  il  miofato  a  soffrirl* 

1  A  father,  a  daughter —  From  so  many  afflictions  who  will  ever  raise  them 
up  again? 

2  Alas,  not  even  a  final  embrace?  This  is  excess  of  cruelty  I 

s  Even  the  right  of  weeping  is  denied  to  my  eyes;  my  sighing  stops  short 
within  my  breast  O  powerful  God,  give  pity,  give  counsel  1  Help  me  to  endure 
my  fate! 


LA  GAZZA  LADRA  287 

— and  this  song,  with  its  rollicking  melody,  is  twice  repeated  at 
different  intervals. 

At  the  fourth  or  fifth  performance  of  la  Gazza  ladra,  a  general  out 
cry  was  raised  against  this  outrageous  piece  of  absurdity.  Among 
Rossini's  critics  in  the  matter  of  this  allegro,  the  wittiest  by  far  was  a 
certain  young  man,  one  of  the  most  charming  representatives  of  the 
jeunesse  doree  of  Milan,  whose  premature  death  is  recognized  to-day 
as  a  tragic  loss  to  the  world  of  art.  Had  he  been  still  alive,  I  could 
have  counted  upon  his  devotion  to  furnish  this  little  treatise  with  a 
page  or  two  from  his  own  pen;  in  which  case,  I  could  then  have  been 
certain  that  the  work  was  not  wholly  unworthy  of  public  notice. 

Rossini's  supporters  (for  there  were  two  camps,  sharply  distin 
guished  one  from  the  other)  maintained  that  we  ought  to  be  grateful 
to  him  for  having  meticulously  disguised  the  atrocious  brutality  of 
the  theme  by  enveloping  it  in  the  softening  veils  of  melodic  gaiety. 
If  Mozart,  they  asserted,  had  composed  the  music  to  la  Gazza  ladra 
as  it  ought  to  have  been  written,  that  is  to  say,  in  the  style  of  the 
serious  episodes  from  Don  Giovanni,  the  opera  would  have  been 
gruesome  to  the  point  of  nausea,  and  nobody  could  have  managed  to 
sit  through  a  single  performance. 

But  the  fact  remains  that  in  no  other  opera  has  Rossini  ever  been 
guilty  of  so  many  palpable  misinterpretations  as  in  la  Gazza  ladra.  He 
was  nervously  apprehensive  of  the  Milanese  audiences,  who  had 
borne  him  a  grudge  ever  since  il  Turco  in  Italia ;  he  was  determined  to 
dazzle  them  with  a  positive  galaxy  of  passages,  glittering  with 
"originality";  and  he  left  himself  even  less  time  than  usual  for 
revision.  I  once  heard  Ricordi,  the  best-known  music-publisher  in 
Italy  at  the  time,  who  had  built  a  great  fortune  out  of  Rossini's 
popular  successes,  telling  a  gathering  in  Florence  how  Rossini  had 
composed  one  of  the  most  splendid  duets  in  la  Gazza  sitting  in  the 
back  room  of  Ms  music-shop,  amid  a  hurly-burly  of  shouting  and  all 
the  satanic  din  of  a  dozen  or  more  music-copyists  dictating  or  check 
ing  scores  aloud  to  each  other — and  finished  it  in  less  than  an  hour! 

The  great  passage  which  opens  with  the  chorus : 

Tr emote  ^  opopoli ... 

is,  in  my  opinion,  much  too  long. 
The  crowd-scene  chorus,  which  is  heard  as  Ninetta,  escorted  by 


LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

guards,  passes  across  the  stage  on  her  way  to  the  place  of  execution, 
is  essentially  well-conceived.  In  Italy,  where  tyranny,  being  both 
suspicious  and  implacable1  (and  thus  radically  different  from  the 
despotism  of  Louis  XV),  has  stifled  at  birth  every  delicacy  of  feeling, 
there  is  nothing  unusual  in  the  sight  of  the  public  executioner  donning 
a  gendarme's  helmet  and  striding  along  beside  Ninetta,  dragging  her 
ruthlessly  to  her  feet  after  the  wretched  girl  has  fallen  on  her  knees  to 
pray  as  the  procession  passes  the  village  church.  In  the  production  at 
la  Scala,  the  decor  for  this  scene,  which  was  designed  by  Signor 
Perego*,  was  superb;  the  little  church  was  dark  and  intimate;  yet  it 
was  dignified  with  just  that  touch  of  grandeur  which  was  required  to 
dissipate  (in  part,  at  least)  the  gloomy  horror  which  we  must  feel  at 
witnessing  so  terrible  a  ceremony.  At  the  Theatre  Louvois,  on  the 
other  hand,  the  decor  was  all  tinsel  and  prettiness,  and  worthily 
topped  off  with  a  tree  or  two  slung  up  in  the  clouds,  and  completely 
devoid  of  support  on  the  earth  beneath.  But  the  taste  of  the  Louvois 
audience  in  matters  visual  is  too  grossly  uneducated  to  worry  about 
a  little  trifle  like /to!2 

There  was  never  a  light-comedy  number  better-placed  than  that 
which  occurs  in  ths  finale : 

Ecco  cessato  il  vento, 
Placato  il  mare  infido  ...3 

Galli  used  to  sing  it  with  magnificent  verve  and  joyousness;  by 
contrast,  Zuchelli  brings  to  his  interpretation  a  unique  perfection  of 
grace;  and  when  he  sings  it  thus,  this  empty-headed  little  jig-tune 
becomes  a  thing  of  outstanding  beauty.  I  should  dearly  like  to  see 
this  great  singer  in  a  proper  baritone  part — for  instance,  as  don 
Giovanni. 

After  a  performance  of  la  Gazza  ladra  as  it  is  given  at  the  Theatre 
Louvois,  the  poor  spectator  emerges  deafened  and  exhausted.  This 

1  Cf.  the  imprisonment  of  the  historian  Giannone. 

2  In  thirty  years7  time,  scene-painters  will  be  firmly  requested  to  delete  all  the 
pretty  little  patterns  of  scrolls  and  arabesques  with  which,  at  present,  they  feel 
obliged  to  disfigure  their  backcloths.  When  that  day  dawns  at  last,  it  may  be  that 
we  shall  have  exchanged  a  load  of  petty  vanity  for  a  scrap  of  real  pride.  We  are 
not  too  proud  to  drink  coffee,  although  it  refuses  to  grow  patriotically  on  the  soil 
of  France;  so  why  should  we  not  turn  our  attention  towards  Milan,  and  invoke 
the  aid  of  i  Signori  Sanquirico,  Tranquillo  and  their  heirs  and  successors? 

3  Behold,  the  wind  has  dropped,  the  treacherous  sea  is  grown  calm  ... 


LA  GAZZA  LADRA  289 

excessive  nervous  strain  could  easily  be  avoided  by  the  insertion  of  an 
hour's  ballet  between  the  two  acts  of  the  opera.  In  Milan,  we  would 
be  given  Myrrha*,  or  else  la  Vengeance  de  Venus,  one  of  Vigano's 
masterpieces.  The  dreain-fantasies  of  mythology  came  as  a  delightful 
relief  after  the  only-too-realistic  horrors  of  that  sordid  little  episode 
extracted  from  the  parish  annals  of  Palaiseau,  with  its  Judge  and  its 
gendarmes.  I  suppose  that  there  has  never  existed  any  orchestra 
inspired  with  a  greater  respect  for  academic  accuracy,  or  with  a  nicer 
sense  of  mathematical  values,  or  with  a  stricter  sense  of  what  it  con 
ceives  to  be  its  bounden  duty,  than  that  of  the  Louvois;  certainly 
there  has  never  been  an  orchestra  so  totally  devoid  of  any  feeling  for 
music*.  But  since  it  seems  impossible  to  hope  for  any  feeling,  let  us 
pray  that,  given  time,  it  may  eventually  be  possible,  by  dint  of  theory 
and  instruction,  for  the  students  at  the  rue  Bergere  to  grasp  that  a 
crescendo  is  most  effective  if  it  is  begun  softly •;  and  that  there  do  exist 
certain  elusive  and  super-subtle  shades  of  expression,  normally 
known  as  piano.  O,  how  one  longs  for  one  or  two  of  those  poor, 
unskilled  instrumentalists  from  Capua  or  Foligno!  They  make  mis 
takes;  but  when  they  do,  the  cause  is  invariably  ignorance;  there  are 
certain  notes  which  their  fingers  just  do  not  possess  the  necessary 
dexterity  to  strike  correctly.  Yet  what  fire!  What  delicacy!  What 
soul!  What  a  feeling  for  music!  By  contrast,  there  exists  a  certain 
brand  of  note,  rather  too  loud,  rather  too  brassy,  rather  too  shame 
less,  whose  perpetration  proves  this,  and  this  only:  that  he  who  shall 
be  proved  guilty  of  having  insulted  the  listener's  ear  by  producing  it, 
is  eternally  disqualified  from  the  legitimate  membership  of  any 
orchestra  whatsoever  (except  that  of  the  Grand  Opera). 

Taken  individually,  each  and  every  member  of  the  Louvois 
orchestra  (and  particularly  of  the  violin-section)  is  probably  superior 
to  any  equivalent  performer  in  the  respective  orchestras  of  Dresden, 
Munich  or  Darmstadt*.  And  yet,  what  an  overwhelming  difference 
in  the  general  impression!  The  inherent  technical  superiority  of  our 
academic  friends  only  becomes  apparent  in  certain  symphonies  of 
Haydn,  where  everything  is  harsh",  but  as  soon  as  they  encounter  a 
single  bar  which  requires  a  little  grace,  a  little  tenderness  con  espres- 
sione,  they  are  out  of  their  depth.  If  you  want  evidence,  just  listen  to 
their  performance  of  the  passages  of  this  character  which  are  to  be 
found  in  the  overture  to  la  Gazza  ladra;  and,  for  further  corrobora- 


290  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

tion,  consider  the  treatment  which  has  recently  been  meted  out  to 
the  overture  of  Cimarosa's  gli  Orazii  e  Curiazn. 

The  first  time  I  heard  la  Gazza  ladra  performed  at  the  Louvois,  I 
was  utterly  scandalized.  The  conductor,  who,  incidentally,  is  a  very 
gifted  man  indeed,  a  talented  musician,  a  first-rate  violinist,  and  an 
artist  who  handles  his  orchestra  excellently  within  the  limitations  of 
the  style  of  playing  adopted  in  France,  had  completely  altered  the 
tempo  of  nearly  every  one  of  Rossini's  numbers.  If  ever  Rossini  him 
self  visits  Paris,  and  if  he  can  resist  the  temptation  of  issuing  blandly 
misleading  instructions  concerning  the  performance  of  his  own  music 
(a  form  of  practical  joke  which  I  have  more  than  once  known  him  to 
indulge  in,  and  to  carry  through  with  poised  equanimity  and  out 
rageous  success,  to  the  supreme  discomfiture  of  the  wretched  singers 
whom  he  happened  to  have  picked  on!),  he  will  be  forced  into  some 
kind  of  expostulation  with  the  worthy  gentleman  in  charge  of  the 
Louvois  orchestra.  Poor  Rossini!  If  there  is  an  argument,  he  is  bound 
to  be  defeated,  indeed  utterly  routed— for  he  is  not  a  MUSICOLOGIST! 

Tempo,  in  music,  is  the  very  essence  of  expression.  Take  that 
delightful  aria, 

Enfant  chert  des  dames  ...x 

which  Deviene  once  filched  from  Mozart,  and  play  it  adagio;  it  will 
move  you  to  tears!  Among  the  numbers  thus  "arranged"  in  so 
indefensible  a  manner  by  the  conductor  of  the  Theatre  Louvois^  I 
recall  in  particular  the  prison-scene  duet  between  Ninetta  and 
Pippo : 

Ebben  per  mia  memoria  . . . 

Anything  marked  piano  was  transmuted  into  allegro;  but  since  man 
was  born  to  be  just,  and  compensation  is  one  of  the  fundamental  laws 
of  nature,  the  next  pretty  little  allegro  vivace  which  turned  up  in  the 
score  was  religiously  converted  into  a  sad  and  sighing  andante,  in 
blithe  disregard  of  the  dramatic  situation,  and  (if  I  may  so  express 
myself)  of  the  tortured  squeal  of  protest  from  the  libretto.  Moreover, 
Pippo's  cry: 

Guarda,  guarda!  avisa,  avisa!2 

at  the  instant  when,  perched  high  on  the  steeple  of  the  church,  he 
1  Child  idolized  by  womankind  ...     2  Look!  Look!  Tell  someone  quickly! 


LA  GAZZA  LADRA  291 

discovers  the  magpie's  hoard  and  the  silver  spoons — an  allegro 
passage  if  ever  there  was  one,  and  played  as  such  under  the  com 
poser's  own  supervision  in  Milan — is  transmogrified  in  the  Louvois 
version  into  a  kind  of  funeral  dirge,  which,  considered  as  &  parody,  is 
highly  entertaining.1 

In  eight  or  ten  years'  time,  when  our  present  musical  revolution  is 
accomplished,  and  when  all  our  pretty  little  twelve-year-old,  music- 
learning  school-girls  are  grown  up,  married  and  thoroughly  inde 
pendent,  the  new  Louvois  audiences  will  insist  first  and  foremost 
upon  fine  singing  from  the  actors  instead  of  upon  clever  playing  from 
the  orchestra;  and  consequently,  at  least  in  respect  of  the  tempo  of 
this  or  that  passage,  they  will  degrade  the  conductor  into  the  humble 
servant  of  the  vocalists.  Once  the  singer  is  on  the  stage,  even  if  he  is 
incorrigibly  mediocre,  everything  else  must  obey  and  give  way  to  him; 
not — Heaven  forbid! — out  of  respect  for  him  as  a  person,  but  from 
due  deference  to  the  ears  of  the  listeners! 

1  It  is  asserted  that  the  main  subject  of  the  steeple-tzrw  is  borrowed  from  Otetto* 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

Of  the  Quality  of  Admiration  in  France 

or    • 
An  Essay  concerning  Grand  Opera 

Jl  H  I  s  evening,  the  5th  of  March  1823, 1  went  to  hear  le  Devin  du 
Village.  Stylistically  speaking,  this  opera  is  a  somewhat  clumsy 
imitation  of  the  kind  of  music  which  was  fashionable  in  Italy  round 
about  1730.  But  this  particular  fashion  long  ago  surrendered  to  the 
masterpieces  of  Pergolese  and  Logrosino;  and  these  in  their  turn 
were  superseded  by  those  of  Sacchini,  Piccini,  etc.,  which  were  later 
outmoded  by  those  of  Guglielmi,  Paesiello,  etc.  ...  composers  who, 
in  their  turn  again,  were  pushed  into  obscurity  by  Rossini  and 
Mozart. 

In  France,  however,  we  will  have  none  of  this  unseemly  haste; 
nothing  which  has  once  been  generally  approved  may  ever  be  allowed 
to  fade  gradually  into  the  background.  On  every  single  count  it  is 
necessary  to  give  battle.  As  a  good  Frenchman,  I  am  resolved  and 
adamant  that  what  I  admired  yesterday,  I  shall  continue  to  admire 
to-day;  for  if  not,  what  should  I  find  to  talk  about  to-morrow?  So- 
and-so's  opera  is  a  recognized  masterpiece ;  it  therefore  is,  and  will 
remain,  "exquisite'*;  and  if  (incidentally)  it  bores  me  to  tears,  the 
fault  lies  exclusively  in  myself.  Even  before  we  were  ten  years  old,  we 
had  had  to  learn  the  hard  lessons  of  life  from  the  family  retainer  who 
used  to  put  our  hair  in  curlers:  "There  is  no  way  of  being  beautiful, 
young  Master,  without  suffering  for  it  first!" 

Europe  is  in  a  state  of  upheaval,  and  the  staidest  of  institutions 
have  been  overthrown;  alone  amid  the  turmoil,  the  regular  public  of 
the  Grand  Opera  offers  us  a  unique  phenomenon:  it  stands  exactly 
where  it  stood  before.  Seventy  years  ago,  it  held  out  with  unrivalled 
gallantry  against  Rousseau:  the  first  violins  selflessly  offered  to 
assassinate  him  as  the  Public  Enemy  of  Patriotism;1  Paris  to  a  man 

1  Patriotism!  ...  le  Miroir  uses  the  same  old  worn-out  arguments  to-day  as 
Rousseau's  detractors  used  to  use  in  1765;  and  anyway,  what  is  Patriotisml  An 
argument  used  to  catch  the  votes  of  anybody  who  is  too  busy  to  think,  by  appeal 
ing  to  his  emotions! 


CONCERNING  GRAND  OPERA  293 

rose  up  in  arms  against  Mm;  and  there  was  talk  of&Lettre  de  Cachet. 
A  year  back,  the  same  scenes  were  re-enacted  down  to  the  last  detail 
at  thsPorte-Samt-Martm;  witness  our  entire  "liberal  press"  persuad 
ing  the  motley  assembly  of  drapers'  assistants  who  constitute  its 
"enlightened  public"  that  Shakespeare  should  be  hounded  for  ever 
off  the  French  stage,  on  the  grounds  that  he  was  one  of  Wellington's 
aides-de-camp  \ 

Any  native  literary  instinct  which  we  may  possess  has  remained 
rooted  exactly  where  it  was  in  1765;  and  Patriotism  is  still  the  main 
spring  of  our  vanity.  Indeed,  as  a  race,  we  are  so  riddled  with  vanity, 
that  sometimes  we  even  manage  to  persuade  ourselves  that  we  are 
proud! 

Consider  the  changes  that  have  taken  place  in  the  political  field 
since  1765:  the  scene  opens  with  Louis  XV  issuing  an  invitation  to 
Philosophy  to  take  a  seat  upon  his  Council  of  State;  and  the  grave 
Goddess  accepts,  appearing  in  that  august  company  beneath  the 
immortal  features  of  Turgot.  But  Turgot  falls,  and  in  Ms  place  sits 
Maurepas,  that  decrepit  old  buffoon  with  Ms  store  of  puerile  frivol 
ity.  Close  on  Ms  heels  comes  a  new  reign — the  dictatorsMp  of  high 
finance,  and  the  rale  of  middle-class  complacency;  all  beneath  the 
symbol  of  honest  Necker.  But  here  comes  Mirabeau,  under  whose 
guidance  France  sets  out  in  search  of  a  Constitutional  Monarchy; 
and  here,  hard  beMnd  Mm,  comes  Danton,  wielding  a  Reign  of 
Terror  and  a  firm  sword  to  defy  the  foreign  invader.  Next  we  see  a 
swarm  of  robbers,  all  fighting  to  dispossess  the  rightful  rulers  and 
seize  the  helm  of  state— but  the  dawn  is  nigh  for  all  that,  the  brave 
dawn  ofFrascatfsl  MeanwMle,  our  armies  in  the  field  are  tasting  the 
unsettling  thrill  of  winning  victories,  and  of  routing  the  Austrians  in 
battle. 

And  while  we  were  sitting  listening  to  music  in  the  rue  de  Clery, 
there  came  a  young  hero  to  take  possession  of  Ms  bride,  the  fair  land 
of  France,  and  for  three  whole  years  to  be  her  happiness.  But  one 
day,  along  comes  some  obsequious  individual,  who,  faced  with  the 
simple  duty  of  delivering  a  letter,  wMsks  off  Ms  plumed  hat  with  a 
flourish  of  sweet  courtiership,  reverses  it,  and  uses  it  as  a  salver. 
Dazed  by  such  glittering  ceremonial,  the  hero  is  overcome:  No  one 
else  understands  the  secret  of  service!*  This  one  letter  delights  Mm 
more  than  a  dozen  victories;  and  from  that  instant,  the  hunt  is  up, 


294  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

and  France  is  a  mad  scramble  of  men  grovelling  and  grubbing  back 
into  the  days  of  Louis  XIV,  ferreting  in  the  old  monarchic  rag-bag 
for  precious  scraps  of  finery.  Baronies  and  courtly  orders  burn 
brightest  in  the  heart's-desire  of  fair  France  ...  until  at  last,  wearied 
of  the  insolence  of  the  new-fangled  Counts  of  the  Empire,  she  returns 
in  rapture  to  her  old  love — Louis  XVIII!  What  changes  in  the  old 
order!  Since  1765,  public  opinion  has  veered  from  left  to  right  and 
back  again  at  least  a  score  of  times.  But,  as  though  to  console  the 
wounded  dignity  of  Patriotism,  one  class  alone  has  remained  faithful 
and  uncorrupted:  the  habitues  of  the  Grand  Opera.  They  alone  may 
claim  to  have  nobly  resisted  that  fatal  surge  of  weathercock-restless 
ness  which  has  raged  back  and  forth  over  so  many  heads.  Indeed, 
this  very  evening,  the  singing  was  of  a  badness  identical  note  for  note 
with  the  badness  which  reigned  sixty  years  ago ! 

And  this  evening,  upon  returning  from  le  Devin  du  Village,  I 
chanced  quite  unthinkingly  to  fetch  down  off  the  shelf  a  volume  of 
Rousseau's  flamboyant  prose,  and  opened  it  at  random.  It  happened 
to  be  the  volume  which  contained  his  writings  on  music.  I  was  liter 
ally  thunderstruck:  for  every  word  which  he  had  written  in  1765  is  as 
vital  and  as  true  to-day,  in  1823,  as  it  was  then.  French  orchestras, 
while  remaining  obstinately  convinced  that  they  are  the  finest 
orchestras  in  the  world,  are  no  more  capable  to-day  of  performing 
one  of  Rossini's  crescendi  than  they  were  in  days  gone  by.  Faithful  to 
the  traditional  parchment-lined  eardrums  of  our  venerable  ancestors, 
they  grow  sick  with  fright  at  the  mere  thought  of  starting  too  softly, 
and  despise  the  elementary  nuances  of  tonal  values  as  symptoms  of 
unmanly  impotence.  Technique,  in  a  purely  physical  sense,  has  im 
proved,  and  no  one  would  deny  that  the  present  generation  of 
violinists,  'cellists  and  double-bass  players  can  perform  feats  of 
virtuosity  unthinkable  in  1765 ;  but  the  spiritual  climate,  if  I  may  risk 
the  phrase,  in  which  the  players  live,  move  and  have  their  being,  is  the 
same  now  as  it  ever  was.  Our  musicians  somehow  remind  me  of  a 
man  who,  after  a  life  of  cramping  poverty,  suddenly  inherits  a  vast 
fortune  from  a  distant  and  forgotten  relative  dying  in  the  Indies;  his 
scope  of  activity,  his  range  of  influence,  is  transformed  out  of  all 
recognition;  but  his  own  character  remains  precisely  as  it  was  before 
...  or,  if  anything,  grows  worse,  for  this  same  character,  made  bold 
by  the  new  flood  of  wealth,  is  now  tempted  to  cast  aside  its  old 


CONCERNING  GRAND  OPERA  295 

restraint  and  modesty,  and  to  parade  its  crudity  in  shameless  naked 
ness.  Our  instrumentalists  have  inherited  an  analogous  fortune  in 
manual  dexterity.  If  Rossini,  as  he  intends,  stops  a  while  in  Paris  on 
Ms  way  to  London,  just  wait  and  see  how  they  will  cavil  and  argue 
about  the  tempo  of  the  music  which  he  composed,  and  claim  to  under 
stand  the  whole  problem  a  hundred  times  better  than  he  does!  As 
separate  individuals,  every  one  of  these  instrumentalists  is  a  first- 
class  artist  in  his  own  line,  and  equipped  with  a  greater  store  of 
technical  virtuosity  than  any  other  player  in  Europe;  but  group  them 
all  together  in  a  band,  and  the  resulting  "orchestra**  remains  some 
thing  irremediably  rooted  in  the  year  1765.  We  are  flooded  from 
every  quarter  with  scientific  musicianship;  nothing  is  left  undevel 
oped,  save  a  basic  feeling  for  music.  I  am  haunted  by  infant  prodigies, 
who,  at  the  age  of  ten-and-a-half,  can,  and  do,  astound  us  with  full 
concertos  on  the  violin;  and  yet  a  whole  orchestra-full  of  mature  and 
adult  violinists  is  incapable  of  performing  the  accompaniment  to  the 
duet  from  Armidal 

Music,  considered  as  a  mechanical  technique,1  is  moving  rapidly 
towards  a  state  of  perfection;  music  as  an  art  is  perishing  by  degrees. 
One  is  forced  to  conclude  that,  with  people  such  as  these,  any  increase 
in  knowledge  is  accompanied  by  a  proportionate  decrease  in  sensi 
bility.  Rousseau's  ideas  on  political  theory  and  on  social  organization 
are  a  whole  century  out  of  date;  but  his  ideas  on  music,  an  art  which 
the  French  as  a  whole  seem  to  find  decidedly  more  recalcitrant,  are 
still  alive  with  truth  and  immediacy.  A  certain  scribbler  (still  heart 
and  soul  in  the  ancien  regime)  has  publicly  asserted  that  the  two 
most  typically  French  composers  are  Spontini  and  Nicolo — apparently 
without  even  grasping  the  hint  supplied  by  their  names,  that  Spontini 
comes  from  Jesi  while  Nicolo  was  born  in  Malta,  and  that  neither  of 
them  settled  in  France  until  a  score  of  attempts  to  achieve  popularity 
in  Italy  had  proved  unavailing!  On  every  side,  absurdity  is  matched 
by  pretentiousness;  but  pretentiousness  wins  in  the  end! 

Could  it  mean  that,  at  bottom,  the  French  nation  is  among  the 

1  On  one  occasion  recently,  during  a  performance  of  Tancredi,  the  Lowois 
orchestra  played  the  accompaniment  to  the  whole  of  the  duet:  Ah!  se  de*  mali 
miei  ...  one  semi-tone  higher  than  was  written  in  the  score;  that  is  to  say  that, 
without  the  slightest  difficulty,  and  acting  upon  a  simple  hint  from  the  conductor, 
it  transposed  the  whole  number  at  sight  from  C  major  to  D  major.  Whereas,  in 
1765,  the  Master  of  the  Musick  had  been  obliged  to  call  out:  "Gentlemen!  Pray 
observe  the  change  of  key  1" 


296  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

most  conservative  and  the  least  inconstant  of  all  the  races  in  Europe? 
Philosophers  have  arraigned  us  often  enough  on  the  familiar  charge 
of  frivolity;  but  could  one  swear  that  the  observations  which  moti 
vate  their  verdict  ever  really  penetrate  beyond  the  superficial  phen 
omena  of  the  cut  of  a  coat  or  the  style  of  a  wig? 

We  sneer  at  the  Germans,  and  taunt  them  with  their  "stolidity"; 
yet  during  the  last  thirty  years  they  have  experienced  at  least  three 
major  revolutions  in  philosophy  and  in  dramatic  theory.  We  our 
selves,  on  the  contrary,  still  stand  indomitably  by  that  great  French 
composer  Spontini,  and  by  our  Patriotism',  and  we  gallantly  rally  to 
defend  our  own  Gretry  (from  Liege  in  Flanders)  against  that  intrud 
ing  alien  Rossini  (from  Pesaro  in  Italy) ! 

In  1765,  Louis  XV,  for  all  his  intelligence,  retorted  to  the  Due 
d'Ayen,  who  had  been  uncomplimentary  about  Du  Belloy's  patriotic 
tragedy  le  Siege  de  Calais:  "Sir,  I  believed  you  to  be  a  worthier  son 
of  France!"  The  Duke's  reply  is  well  known*.  Even  Napoleon,  in  his 
Memoires,  is  carried  away  by  the  fine  old  tradition  of  patriotic 
untruth,  and  sees  fit  to  condemn  any  historian  who  has  the  temerity 
to  record  events  discreditable  to  France.1  Had  his  reign  not  been  cut 
short,  he  would,  he  says,  "have  destroyed  all  the  evidence  of  the 
military  history  of  his  own  epoch,  so  as  to  be  the  sole  and  absolute 
master  of  Truth".  There  is  a  curious  anecdote  concerning  General 
Vallongue  and  the  battle  of  Marengo;  but  the  gallant  officer  who 
whispered  it  to  me  in  confidence  is  too  much  of  a  gentleman  to  make 
it  public.  I  personally  worship  Napoleon  the  hero;  but  I  despise 
Napoleon  the  despot  giving  audience  to  the  Chief  of  his  Secret 
Police. 

In  all  the  political  revolutions  from  which  the  state  has  emerged, 
France  has  shown  no  signs  of  "frivolity";  on  the  contrary,  the  aver 
age  Frenchman  has  followed  the  prospect  of  his  own  individual 
economic  advantage  with  the  most  relentless  persistence;2  and  in 
literature,  he  has  shown  a  similar  tenacity  in  the  pursuit  of  ideas 
which  satisfy  his  vanity.  The  dramatist  knows  no  more  potent  spell 
for  conjuring  the  menace  of  &  fiasco  than  to  plagiarize  a  line  or  two 
from  La  Harpe;  and  even  at  the  Theatre  du  Marais9  there  is  no  more 

1  Notes  on  a  work  by  General  Rogniat. 

2  On  the  morrow  of  the  18  Brwnaire,  two  thousand  citizens  of  wealth  and 
substance  suddenly  found  it  In  their  interests  to  become  zealous  supporters  of 
Napoleon. 


CONCERNING  GRAND  OPERA  297 

certain  way  of  earning  a  reputation  for  infinite  intellectual  finesse 
than  to  spice  the  same  plagiarism  with  a  super-subtle  nuance  or 
variation  once  in  a  dozen  pages.  That  which  we  admired  yesterday, 
we  shall  doggedly  continue  to  admire  to-day;  for  admiration  accu 
mulates  like  money  in  the  bank;  if  it  were  not  so,  we  should  be  forced 
to  fit  ourselves  out  every  day  with  a  new  fund  of  conversation;  and 
then  we  might  find  ourselves  faced  with  problems  and  objections 
which  we  had  failed  to  foresee,  and  for  which  we  had  no  answer 
ready ...  O,  calamity! 

In  France,  the  humbler  classes  of  society  are  frankly  content  to 
admire  what  "Paris"  admires,  just  as,  formerly,  they  would  admire 
what  was  admired  by  the  Court.  Provincial  society,  all  too  painfully 
aware  that  it  is  not  in  the  vanguard  of  fashion,  is  desperately  afraid 
of  allowing  any  really  serious  discussion  on  any  of  the  topics  which  it 
has  tacitly  agreed  to  regard  as  being  in  good  taste.  It  receives  its 
opinions  ready-made  from  Paris— from  that  scarlet  city  of  Paris 
which  the  Provinces  contemplate  with  secret  and  silent  loathing 
leavened  with  abject  humility.  It  is  worth  observing  that  the  only 
persons  left  in  Paris  who  still  possess  a  trace  of  masculine  and  virile 
energy  are  invariably  provincials  who  make  their  way  to  Paris  at  the 
age  of  seventeen,  burdened  with  a  whole  noisome  baggage  of  fashion 
able  literary  opinions  dating  from  1760! 

It  follows  clearly,  therefore,  that  in  the  field  of  art  at  least,  incon 
stancy  is  precluded  by  the  quivering  susceptibilities  of  vanity:  he  who 
desireth  Beauty  must  pass  through  the  Vale  of  Suffering.  No  one  dare 
risk  a  confident  appeal  to  Ms  own  independent  judgment — least  of  all 
in  the  Provinces,  where  independence  is  the  one  sin  for  which  there  is 
no  forgiveness. 

Such  was  the  cacophony  of  lese-majestical  thoughts  which  dinned 
in  my  ears  this  evening  at  the  Opera,  at  the  sight  of  that  vast  congre 
gation  of  persons  of  taste  all  bored  to  extinction  by  le  Devln  du 
Village ,  and  yet  utterly  devoid  of  the  moral  courage  required  to  con 
fess  as  much  frankly,  even  to  themselves;1  so  horrible  indeed  is  the 

1  Most  of  the  seats  at  the  Grand  Optra  are  taken,  either  by  members  of  the 
lower  orders,  or  else  by  gaping  provincials  freshly  disembarked  from  the  stage 
coaches — the  two  classes  of  mortals  who  are  by  instinct  admirers  of  anything 
expensive.  Add  a  sprinkling  of  newly-arrived  English  landed  gentry  (in  the  boxes), 
and  a  score  or  so  of  licentious  rakes  who  have  paid  to  stare  at  the  corps  de  ballet 
(in  the  balcony) :  this,  together  with  the  annual  subsidy  of  600,000  francs  voted  by 
the  Govenunent,  represents  the  total  sum  of  support  which  the  Grand  Op£ra 

LR  L 


298  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

stigma  which  attaches,  in  France,  to  the  man  who  dares  stand  alone 
in  his  opinion. 

One  evening  last  summer,  I  strolled  into  Tortoni's  patisserie*,  and 
there  I  found  the  connoisseurs  of  ice-cream  all  crushed  one  on  top  of 
the  other  in  a  space  about  two  yards  square.  Somewhat  annoyed  at 
not  finding  one  of  the  little  tables  free  to  sit  at,  I  called  to  Tortoni, 
with  whom  I  shared  a  friendship  based  on  our  common  enthusiasm 
for  Italy:  "I  don't  understand  the  workings  of  your  mind/'  I  said. 
"Why  don't  you  lease  further  premises  adjoining  your  present 
establishment?  Then  at  least  one  might  find  room  to  sit  down!" 
"Non  son  cosl  matter  came  the  reply.  "I  know  you  French  people — 
you're  never  happy  unless  you're  being  crushed  to  death!  Just  you 
walk  over  to  the  door,  and  take  a  look  at  the  crowds  on  the  Boulevard 
de  Gandl" 

Obviously  I  failed  to  digest  my  Italian  friend's  judicious  reply,  for 
recently  I  found  myself  saying  to  one  of  the  managers  of  the  Opera 
Bouffe:  "Your  theatre,  Sir,  is  dying  of  inanition;  so  why  not  spend  a 
bit  more,  engage  three  additional  singers  at  30,000  francs  each,  and 
put  on  a  performance  once  a  week  at  the  Grand  OperaT  "We 
shouldn't  get  a  soul  to  come  and  sit  through  it,"  he  answered.  "The 
pit  would  be  empty  and  the  boxes  deserted;  if  we  did  what  you 
suggest,  we  should  be  killing  the  goose  that  lays  the  golden  eggs;  we 
should  be  stifling  that  most  profitable  fashion  which  alone  persuades 
the  average  poor  citizen  of  Paris  to  spend  his  small  weekly  savings, 
not  on  seats  for  the  Opera  Bouffe,  where  he  wants  to  go,  but  on  our 
beloved  Grand  Opera,  whither  the  dictates  of  convention  drive 
him!"1 

I  suppose  that  it  would  be  very  hard  to  record  two  manifestations 
of  social  conformism  more  utterly  futile  than  those  which  I  have  just 
quoted.  Fashionable  Paris  crowds  into  Tortoni's,  there  to  be  crushed 
to  death,  for  precisely  the  same  reason  that  it  crowds  into  the  Theatre 
FrancaiS)  there  to  be  bored  to  death ;  the  principle  is  the  same  in  either 

receives  in  Paris.  The  first  Minister  who  happens  to  retain  a  farthing*s-worth  of 
common  sense  will  install  the  Italians  in  the  rite  Le  Peletier;  but  I  can't  see  it 
happening  before  1830! 

1  If  we  increased  the  size  of  our  theatre ;  no  one  -would  come  and  sit  in  the  audience 
— this  is  the  inevitable  retort  which  you  get  whenever  you  go  and  complain  that 
the  boxes  are  so  cramped  that  it  is  nothing  less  than  sheer  torture  to  sit  in  them,  or 
suggest  that,  since  the  two  adjacent  buildings  belong  to  the  Administrators  of  the 
theatre  in  any  case,  it  would  be  a  simple  matter  to  transform  the  existing  corridors 
into  boxes  £  Fitalierme>  and  to  construct  a  new  set  of  lateral  corridors. 


CONCERNING  GRAND  OPERA  299 

case.  It  is  the  same  man  compelled  by  the  same  motive  at  two  different 
hours  of  the  day.  At  seven  in  the  evening,  strolling  past  the  doors  of 
the  ThedtreFrancais,  he  thinks  to  himself:  "Ah  ...  Iphigeniel  Wonder 
ful  play — why  not  drop  in  and  see  another  performance?"  So  he 
takes  his  ticket,  muttering  under  his  breath  as  he  does  so: 

Jamais  Iphigenie,  en  Aulide  immolee, 
N'a  co&te  tant  de  pleurs  a  la  Grlce  assemblee, 
Que  dans  Vheureux  spectacle  a  nos  yeux  Itatt, 
En  a  fait,  sous  son  nom,  verser  la  Champmesle.1 
BOILEAU,  Epitre  &  Racine. 

And  when  so  noble  and  revered  a  critic  as  Boileau  writes  lines  like 
these,  where  is  he,  poor  man,  to  find  the  moral  courage  to  convince 
himself  that  it  is  utterly  absurd  to  talk  about  une  rame  inutile  "vainly 
exhausting"  une  mer  immobile?  In  any  case,  our  man  has  never  so 
much  as  made  a  trip  in  a  steam-packet ! 

A  true  die-hard  Parisian  never  goes  to  TortonFs  to  eat  ices  because 
it  is  hot  (how  unspeakably  vulgar!),  but  simply  because  it  is  the 
"done  thing",  simply  because  he  wants  to  "be  seen"  in  an  establish 
ment  frequented  by  high  society,  because  he  himself  wishes  to  catch 
a  glimpse  of  this  same  high  society,  and  last — distinctly  last — of  all, 
because  there  may  be  a  faint  suggestion  of  pleasure  in  consuming 
ice-cream  when  the  thermometer  appears  to  be  fixed  permanently  at 
80  degrees  in  the  shade. 

By  contrast,  if,  by  eight  o'clock  in  the  evening,  there  are  still  a  few 
seats  empty  at  the  Theatre  Louvois,  there  is  only  one  conclusion  to  be 
drawn:  the  Theatre  Louvois  is  clearly  not  one  of  those  establishments 
in  which  "high  society"  sees  fit  to  crush  itself  to  death  ...  so  I  won't 
go  either! 

In  Spain  or  in  Italy,  every  man  has  the  profoundest  contempt  for 
his  neighbour,  and  savagely  delights  in  the  pride  of  his  own  opinions. 
This,  of  course,  is  the  reason  why  no  really  "fashionable"  person 
could  ever  endure  to  live  in  either  country. 

This,  and  all  that  has  gone  before,  explains  the  history  of  Rossini's 

1  Never  did  Iphigenia  cost  so  many  tears  to  the  assembled  peoples  of  Greece 
by  her  sacrifice  in  Aulis,  as  Mademoiselle  de  Champmesl6  caused  to  be  shed  in  her 
name  during  the  course  of  the  wonderful  tragedy  which  we  have  recently  beheld. 
2  Ilfdlut  s'arreter,  et  la  rame  inutile 
Fatigua  vainement  une  mer  imm&btte 

IpMgtnie,  lines  50-1. 


300  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

reception  in  France;  from  the  day  when  some  shrewd  Director  of  the 
Opera  Bouffe  chose  to  disfigure  Vltaliana  in  Algeri,  to  the  day  when, 
during  the  run  of  UBarbiere,  every  ingenuity  was  displayed  to  suggest 
disadvantageous  comparisons  with  Paesiello,  the  authorities  have 
clung  desperately  to  the  hope  of  setting  the  public  against  "that 
Italian".  The  manoeuvre  was  adroit,  and  shrewdly  calculated  to 
flatter  the  particular  literary  prejudices  of  the  race  to  which  it  was 
addressed.  Men  of  letters,  always  ready  to  consider  the  privilege  of 
criticizing  music  and  painting  as  a  legitimate  appendage  to  their 
professional  titles,  stuck  fast  by  the  traditions  of  the  guild,  and 
poured  forth  rabid  articles  extolling  composers  who  were  thirty  years 
out  of  date  and  denigrating  the  composer  of  to-day.  It  was  still 
Racine  and  Boileau  whom  they  were  defending;  still  (in  their  own 
minds  at  least),  Schiller  and  Byron  who  were  to  be  cast  forth  into  the 
nethermost  pit.  Their  inkwells  never  seemed  to  hold  sufficient  vitriol 
to  hurl  at  the  "indescribable  impertinence"  of  any  young  man  who 
dared  cast  aspersions  upon  the  renown  of  an  Ancient*  I1  But  luckily 
for  Rossini,  the  heyday  of  Geoffroy  was  long  past;  none  of  the  sur 
viving  newspapers  really  carried  weight  with  any  considerable  section 
of  the  public;  and  so  our  poor,  worthy  literary  critics,  now  no  longer 
enjoying  their  traditional  and  privileged  monopoly  of  the  pulpit, 
were  suddenly  aghast  to  discover  that  no  one  was  taking  any  serious 
notice  of  them  at  all ! 

Rossini's  popularity  in  Paris  dates  from  the  production  of  il 
Barbiere — a  mere  nine  years  after  he  had  become  the  idol  of  the 
public,  not  only  in  every  corner  of  Italy,  but  throughout  large  areas 
of  Germany  as  well.  Tancredi,  for  instance,  was  produced  in  Vienna 
immediately  after  the  Congress  (1814-15);  three  years  later,  la  Gazza 
tefra  was  given,  amid  scenes  of  wild  enthusiasm,  in  Berlin;  and  ever 
since,  the  presses  of  that  city  have  been  pouring  forth  volume  upon 
volume  of  praise  or  abuse  concerning  the  overture. 

Paris,  on  the  other  hand,  was  not  allowed  to  appreciate  even  one 
half  of  Rossini's  qualities  until  (to  the  unutterable  despair  of  certain 
Patriotic  Persons)  Madame  Fodor  took  over  Signora  de'  Begnis'  part 
in  the  Barber;  and  for  the  other  half,  it  had  to  wait  until  Madame 
Pasta  was  heard  in  Otello  and  Tancredi. 

1  Vide:  la  Renommee^  issues  dating  from  the  first  part  of  September  1819  (as  far 
as  I  remember);  also  various  other  journals. 


CHAPTER  XXV 
Of  the  Two  Enthusiasts 

fcj  OME  time  ago,  I  was  introduced  to  an  elderly  clerk  from  the  War- 
Office  who  possessed  the  gift  of  perfect  pitch  to  such  a  degree  that,  if 
he  chanced  to  be  passing  a  stone-mason's  yard  set  up  in  the  neigh 
bourhood  of  some  site  where  a  large  building  was  in  process  of 
construction,  and  where  a  couple  of  workmen,  standing  side  by  side, 
happened  to  be  chipping  a  block  of  stone  with  their  hammers,  he 
could  tell  instantly  (if  anyone  chose  to  ask  him)  the  exact  notes 
which  the  two  sets  of  hammer-blows  were  emitting — and  that,,  with 
such  perfect  accuracy,  that  he  was  never  known  to  make  a  mistake  in 
his  assessment  of  the  sound- value,  nor  in  the  musical  notation  which 
he  would  correctly  and  unhesitatingly  assign  to  it.  If  he  happened  to 
come  across  a  barrel-organ  playing  (like  all  barrel-organs)  out  of 
tune,  he  would  proclaim,  even  while  the  gruesome  apparatus  was  still 
functioning,  exactly  -which  wrong  notes  it  was  churning  out.  No  less 
apt  was  his  felicity  and  accuracy  in  the  analysis  of  the  tortured 
screeching  of  a  badly-rigged  pulley  fixed  at  the  top  of  a  crane-arm 
and  struggling  with  some  enormous  weight;  or  of  the  anguished 
ululations  proceeding  from  the  unoiled  wheels  of  a  farm-cart.  It  is 
superfluous  even  to  mention  that  my  new  friend  could  draw  unerring 
attention  to  the  tiniest  slip  in  the  largest  orchestra;  he  could  name  the 
offending  note  and  point  out  the  guilty  player.  The  individual  who 
had  originally  introduced  us  later  requested  me  to  sing  an  aria,  which 
(whether  by  chance  or  on  purpose  I  will  not  reveal)  presented  a 
number  of  extremely  doubtful  notes;  and,  to  the  astonishment  of  a 
professional  musician  who  happened  to  be  present,  these  same 
doubtful  notes  were  found  to  be  exactly  reproduced  in  the  notational 
version  which  our  friend  the  army-clerk  produced  a  moment  or  two 
later,  and  presented  to  the  discomfited  singer!  This  curious  person 
can  copy  down  any  tune  which  he  hears,  just  as  a  child  can  be  per 
suaded  to  write  out  one  of  la  Fontaine's  Fables  when  some  family 
friend,  to  test  his  progress  as  a  scholar,  chooses  to  give  him  a  dictation. 


302  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

If  the  tune  is  unusually  long,  the  clerk,  not  trusting  his  memory, 
may  ask  you  to  stop  at  a  given  point,  so  as  to  give  him  time  to  get 
down  on  paper  what  he  has  heard  so  far.  There  are  many  other  tests 
of  a  similar  character  from  which  this  odd  acquaintance  of  mine  has 
been  known  to  emerge  equally  triumphant,  but  it  would  be  tedious 
to  enumerate  them.  Every  sound  in  nature  speaks  to  him  in  a  lan 
guage  which  (technically  speaking)  is  of  pellucid  clarity,  and  he  can 
transfer  it  to  paper;  but  he  has  not  the  faintest  inkling  of  its  real 
meaning.  It  would,  I  suppose,  be  hard  to  discover  anyone  whose  ear 
was  more  sensitively  attuned  to  the  physical  phenomena  of  sound; 
but  it  would  certainly  be  equally  hard  to  find  anyone  who  was  deafer 
to  the  broadest  suggestion  of  pleasure  which  such  phenomena 
normally  convey. 

This  poor  old  clerk,  whose  countenance,  like  that  of  Monsieur 
Bellemain  in  FInterieur  d'un  Bureau,  is  placid,  calm  and  contented, 
has  behind  him  some  forty  years  of  impeccable  and  industrious 
service;  and  he  is  the  driest  9  the  most  insensitive  man  alive.  A  note, 
for  Mm,  is  a  noise;  music,  a  dead  language  which  he  hears  perfectly 
and  understands  not  at  all.  I  do  honestly  believe  that  he  prefers  the 
sound  of  his  masons'  hammers  chipping  away  at  blocks  of  stone  to 
all  the  symphonies  that  were  ever  written.  As  an  experiment,  we  have 
tried  sending  Mm  tickets  for  two  concurrent  performances,  the  one 
lot  for  comic  opera  at  the  Theatre  Louvois,  the  other  for  straight 
comedy  at  the  Theatre  de  TOdeon  (or  alternatively,  one  set  for  some 
serious  operatic  performance  at  the  Grand  Opera  and  the  other  for 
straight  melodrama  at  the  Porte-Saint-Martiri) ;  and  invariably  he  has 
chosen  the  theatre  where  there  was  no  singing.  Music,  apparently, 
gives  Mm  no  pleasure  whatsoever,  except  as  a  plain  exercise  for  Ms 
freakish  gift,  as  a  test  in  the  identification  of  sound;  as  an  art,  speak 
ing  to  the  soul,  it  is  meaningless — and  in  any  case,  he  does  not  possess 
a  soul  At  the  first  hint  that  any  conversation  is  showing  a  tendency  to 
drift  off  towards  a  Mgher  level,  at  the  first  suggestion  of  any  idea  or 
event  wMch  threatens  to  rise  above  the  very  lowest  abysses  of  trite 
ness  and  banality,  he  simply  proceeds  to  exclaim,  naively  and  with 
monotonous  repetition;  "Fancy!  Just  fancy!"  He  is  the  living 
incarnation  of  ihs  prosaic. 

By  contrast,  no  one  who  ever  came  into  contact  with  the  court  of 
Prince  Eugene,  the  Viceroy  of  Italy,  can  fail  to  recall  Count  C***,  a 


OF  THE  TWO  ENTHUSIASTS  303 

young  Venetian  nobleman  of  the  most  heroic  bravery,  whose  many 
instances  of  gallantry  in  action  had  rapidly  earned  Mm  promotion  to 
the  rank  of  aide-de-camp  to  the  Prince  himself.  Not  only  was  this 
charming  young  man  to  all  intents  and  purposes  tone-deaf;  but  he 
was  incapable  of  singing  four  notes  on  end  without  committing  the 
most  excruciating  cacophony.  But  the  astonishing  fact  was,  that,  in 
spite  of  being  constitutionally  incapable  of  singing  in  tune,  he  adored 
music  with  a  passionate  intensity  which  is  rare  to  find  even  in  Italy. 
While  triumph  after  triumph  was  being  showered  upon  Mm  in  every 
field,  it  was  quite  obvious  that  a  considerable  and  vital  part  of  his 
happiness  was  incomplete  unless  he  had  music.  A  similar  instance  is 
that  of  Graf  Wenzel  von  Gallenberg,  who,  during  the  period  of 
Rossini's  successes  at  the  teatro  San-Carlo,  was  responsible  for  the 
music  of  the  ballets  wMch  were  performed  in  the  interval  between  the 
first  and  second  acts,  and  which  earned  Mm  a  popularity  almost  as 
phenomenal  as  that  of  Rossini  Mmself;  yet  I  am  assured  that 
Gallenberg  had  the  greatest  difficulty  in  distinguishing  between  a 
correct  note  and  an  incorrect  one*. 

These  are  extreme  cases,  and  consequently  rare;  but  taken  to 
gether  with  all  the  intermediate  degrees  lying  between  them,  they 
cover  every  type  of  musician  and  music-lover.  On  the  one  hand  you 
have  people — musical  pedants,  as  rabid  in  their  pedantry  as  the  old- 
school  latinisers  with  their  souls  steeped  in  vanity,  avarice  and  book- 
learning — whose  perceptions  of  notes,  modes  and  keys  are  sharpened 
to  an  incredible  degree  of  accuracy,  but  whose  souls,  indifferent  to 
suggestion  or  passion  or  hint  of  passion,  remain  for  ever  unmoved  by 
sounds  of  any  description.  These  creatures,  in  the  field  of  music,  are 
invariably  the  most  learned  and  the  most  imperturbable  of  critics; 
never  caught  off  their  balance  by  the  rusMng  winds  of  enthusiasm, 
they  keep  doggedly  to  the  narrow  paths  laid  down  straitly  and  for 
ever  among  the  comfortable  landmarks  of  tMngs  once  leamt;  and 
above  all,  they  are  never  reduced  to  blushing  over  the  kind  of  exag 
gerations  wMch,  uttered  in  unguarded  moments  before  a  company 
ill-equipped  to  sympathize  with  them,  become  such  a  source  of 
recurring  shame  to  the  genuine  lover  of  music. 

Compared  with  the  pedant,  your  true  music-lover  strikes  one  as 
singularly  ignorant,  and  may  occasionally  stumble  into  the  rashest 
absurdities — particularly  when  he  tortures  Mmself  into  astonishing 


304  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

postures  of  pedantry  and  falsehood  in  order  to  give  the  impression 
that  he  really  is  an  expert  in  the  "theory  of  sound-classification"  and 
such  other  monstrous  musical  technicalities.  In  France,  no  amateur 
of  this  type  can  so  much  as  open  his  mouth  to  speak  of  the  divine  art 
to  which  he  owes  the  most  inspiring  of  all  delights,  without  charging 
headlong  into  some  learned  pitfall  or  other,  thereby  making  himself 
the  butt  and  laughing-stock  of  all  the  "professionals";  if  he  has 
theories,  they  are  usually  picked  up  wholesale  out  of  Reicha,  and  no 
more  than  half-digested  at  that.  Any  evening  at  the  Theatre  Louvois, 
I  can  glance  across  the  auditorium,  and  pick  out  specimens  of  either 
category:  the  genuine  dilettante,  for  instance,  is  always  slightly  un 
tidy  in  appearance,  whereas  the  pedant  is  invariably  dressed  up  to 
the  nines,  a  veritable  masterpiece  of  painstaking  sartorial  discipline, 
even  at  premieres,  when  decent  seats  are  only  to  be  had  at  the  price  of 
a  real  tussle.  The  poor,  misguided  fellow  who  really  enjoys  music 
tends,  unwisely,  to  start  talking  in  moments  of  supreme  emotion; 
and  this,  of  course,  is  when  he  is  most  liable  to  lay  himself  open  to  the 
jeers  and  irony  of  his  less  sensitive  neighbours;  he  grows  angry, 
while  they  sneer  with  ever-increasing  complacency  as  his  abysmal 
ignorance  of  names  and  dates  and  places  grows  glaringly  more 
obvious;  whereas  the  withered  pedant  in  the  next  seat  acquires  a 
brittle  halo  of  glory  at  his  expense  by  reeling  off,  in  a  slightly  less 
nauseating  form  than  usual,  the  entire  history  of  musicology,  inter 
woven  with  a  vast  rigmarole  containing  every  detail  of  the  vocal 
characteristics  of  every  prima  donna  who  has  appeared  on  the  Italian 
stage  for  the  last  twenty  years,  every  date  of  every  first  appearance,  of 
every  premiere  ...  etc.,  etc.  And  yet,  why  does  our  poor  dilettante 
have  to  expose  himself  to  ridicule  in  this  foolhardy  manner?  It  can 
only  be  because  there  is  still  a  trace  of  the  old  French  attitude  left  in 
his  character.  Why  do  we  start  talking?  Why  do  we  feel  impelled  to 
appeal  for  sympathy  to  this  vast  extinguisher  of  enthusiasm  and 
sensibility?  Because  of  our  obsession  with  other  people!  Compare  the 
typical  music-lover  who  frequents  the  San-Carlo  or  la  Scala:  pre 
occupied  to  the  exclusion  of  all  else  by  the  intensity  of  his  own 
emotional  experience,  devoid  of  any  urge  to  criticize,  still  less  to 
translate  his  sensations  into  well-turned  sentences,  he  is  completely 
indifferent  to  his  neighbour's  opinion,  unsolicitous  of  his  approba 
tion,  and  as  likely  as  not  unaware  of  his  existence.  Lost  in  his  private 


OF  THE  TWO  ENTHUSIASTS  305 

and  ecstatic  universe  of  contemplation,  anger  and  impatience  are  the 
only  reactions  that  he  is  likely  to  manifest  towards  the  importunate 
intrusiveness  of  other  people — towards  anyone  who  is  rash  enough  to 
come  between  him  and  the  rapture  of  his  own  soul.  From  time  to 
time  an  exclamation  may  spring  to  his  lips,  to  be  followed  by  a  re 
lapse  into  profound  and  sullen  silence.  If  he  beats  time  to  the  music, 
if  he  so  much  as  stirs  a  finger,  it  can  only  be  because  there  are  certain 
passages  where  the  final  consummation  of  pleasure  demands  move 
ment.  His  mouth  will  gape  half-open,  and  every  feature  bear  traces 
of  intolerable  exhaustion— or  rather,  will  seem  utterly  drained  of  the 
last  thin  drop  of  vitality;  his  eyes  alone  may  give  some  insight  into 
the  fiery  recesses  of  his  soul,  and  even  then,  should  anybody  chance 
to  advise  him  of  the  fact,  he  will  bury  his  head  in  his  hands,  so  des 
perate  is  his  contempt  for  other  people. 

Many  renowned  singers  belong  to  that  category  of  musicians 
whose  prototype  I  have  sketched  beneath  the  symbolic  figure  of  my 
little  army-clerk,  with  his  analytical  mania  and  his  passion  for  the 
music  of  stone-dressers'  hammers.  But  in  the  last  resort,  they  are 
nothing  but  banal  and  prosaic  lumps  of  humanity,  endowed  by  sheer 
chance  with  an  accurate  ear,  a  flexible  larynx  and  powerful  lungs. 

And  if,  in  time,  they  end  up  by  acquiring  a  veneer  of  intellectual 
polish,  their  immediate  reaction  is  to  cultivate  an  artificial  crop  of 
"fine  feelings"  and  "enthusiasm";  the  word  "genius"  will  tend  to 
occur  rather  too  frequently  in  their  conversation,  and  busts  of  Mozart 
may  suddenly  appear  upon  their  desks.  If  they  live  in  Paris,  however, 
the  intellectual  veneer  is  not  essential  to  the  erection  of  this  fagade; 
the  phrases  which  furnish  their  conversation  are  supplied  ready- 
made  by  the  daily  press,  and  there  are  always  furniture-dealers  handy 
with  a  good  selection  of  busts  of  Mozart. 

Many  an  instinctive  music-lover,  on  the  other  hand,  may  wallow 
in  the  blackest  ignorance  of  music  as  a  science;  and  yet  the  majority 
of  musical  combinations,  from  the  simplest  to  the  most  complex,  will 
have  a  clear  and  forceful  significance  to  him,  each  representing  some 
subtle  but  unmistakable  nuance  of  emotion.  No  language,  to  him, 
can  speak  with  greater  clarity  than  the  language  of  music;  ^nd,  since 
his  mind  has  not  been  equipped  (and  warped)  with  any  rational 
system  of  control,  this  poor  dilettante  has  no  power  within  Mm  to 
resist  the  fatal  seduction.  Mozart  is  the  sovereign  and  master  of  his 


306  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

soul,  and,  in  the  space  of  twenty  bars,  can  plunge  Mm  into  a  reverie, 
or  else  transport  Mm  into  a  realm  where  the  most  prosaic  happemngs 
in  all  the  world — say,  a  dog  run  over  by  a  cab  in  the  rue  de  Richelieu 
— are  transmuted  into  great  tragedies  of  Destiny  and  mysteries  of  the 
heart. 


o, 


CHAPTER  XXVI 
Mose  in  Egitto 


rccASiONALLY,  when  I  was  in  Naples,  I  would  stroll  round 
after  a  performance,  towards  midnight  or  one  o'clock  in  the  morning, 
and  join  a  gathering  of  old  music-lovers,  who  used  to  meet  on  a 
terrace  above  the  riviera  di  Chiaja,  on  the  roof-garden  of  one  of  the 
palazzL  A  number  of  fair-sized  orange-trees  had  somehow  been 
transplanted  up  there,  on  to  this  miniature  esplanade,  and  we  could 
look  down  upon  the  sea  and  upon  every  other  roof-top  in  Naples; 
while,  facing  us,  rose  Mount  Vesuvius,  which,  each  evening,  would 
produce  some  new  and  curious  phenomenon  to  fascinate  our  gaze. 
Seated  up  there,  high  up  on  this  mountain-top  of  a  terrace,  we  used  to 
await  the  first  cool  and  balmy  breaths  of  the  night-wind,  which  rarely 
fails  to  awaken  soon  after  midnight.  The  splashing  of  the  sea,  whose 
waves  came  and  broke  upon  the  shore  scarcely  twenty  paces  away 
from  the  foot  of  thtpalazzo,  added  a  further  suggestion  of  coolness, 
which,  beneath  this  scorching  climate,  contributed  greatly  to  our 
feeling  of  well-being.  In  these  conditions,  the  delicious  urge  to  **talk 
music"  was  well-nigh  irresistible;  and  we  felt  endlessly  tempted  to 
re-enact  its  subtle  miracles,  either  through  discussion,  which,  when  it 
takes  the  form  of  torrents  of  living  language  poured  forth  from  the 
heart,  can  breathe  new  life,  as  it  were,  into  old  and  dead  sensation; 
or  else,  more  directly,  by  means  of  a  piano  which  stood  hidden  away 
behind  three  orange-tubs  in  a  corner  of  the  terrace.  The  majority  of 
these  elderly  dilettanti  had  known  Cimarosa  as  a  personal  friend;  and 
they  often  used  to  reminisce  about  the  spiteful  tricks  which  Paesiello 
had  played  upon  him  in  the  days  when  these  two  great  composers 
shared  between  them  the  homage  of  Naples  and  of  all  Italy;  for 
Paesiello,  with  the  genius  of  an  angel,  had  the  morals  of  an  ape,  and 
consequently  Cimarosa  never  knew  the  pure  and  unsmirched  tri 
umphs  of  his  successor,  Rossini,  who  reigns  like  the  God-one-and- 
indivisible  over  Italy  and  the  whole  universe  of  music.  This  astound 
ing  popularity,  incidentally,  was  a  constant  source  of  wonder  to  my 


308  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

friends,  who  used  to  like  to  try  and  explain  it.  Many  a  time  I  have 
heard  Rossini  compared  unfavourably  with  the  great  masters  of  the 
end  of  the  last  century— with  Anfossi,  Piccini,  Galuppi,  Guglielmi, 
Portogallo,  Zingarelli,  Sacchini,  etc.,  etc.  The  only  quality  for  which 
Rossini  received  full  credit  was  his  style,  that  is  to  say,  the  art  of 
writing  in  a  manner  which  is  characteristically  entertaining  to  the 
present  generation',  but  as  to  ideas,  as  to  anything  really  funda 
mental,  there  was  no  comparison — so  they  used  to  say — between  this 
modern  upstart  and  those  fine  old  composers  of  days  gone  by. 
Unfortunately,  I  do  not  know  the  operas  which  those  fine  old  com 
posers  composed;  and  in  any  case,  where  should  I  look  to-day  to  find 
any  voices  technically  capable  of  performing  them?1  I  have  heard 
nothing  except  one  or  two  of  their  most  celebrated  arias',  and  I  con 
fess  that  my  attitude  towards  the  majority  of  these  great  figures 
closely  resembles  my  attitude  towards  Garrick  and  Le  Kain;  for 
almost  every  day  I  hear  these  actors  extolled  to  the  skies  by  men  for 
whose  judgment  and  intelligence  I  have  the  greatest  respect;  and  yet, 
in  the  domain  of  art,  I  am  tyrannized  by  a  bad  intellectual  habit 
which  I  have  imported  from  the  field  of  politics — namely,  I  am  pre 
pared  to  talk  without  let  or  hindrance  about  any  subject  under  the 
sun,  but  I  will  believe  nothing  except  that  which  I  have  seen  with  my 
own  eyes.  For  instance,  before  my  visit  to  England,  I  used  to  believe 
that  Talma  was  the  greatest  tragic  actor  of  the  century;  but  since 
then  I  have  actually  beheld  Kean! 

We  were  in  Naples,  then,  and  at  the  height  of  our  arguments 
concerning  the  relative  merits  of  Rossini  and  of  his  precursors  (whose 
superior  deserts,  strangely,  were  not  rewarded  by  a  correspondingly 
greater  success),  when  the  play-bills  heralded  a  new  opera  with  a 
Biblical  theme,  to  be  given  at  the  San-Carlo:  Mose  in  Egitto  (1818). 
I  must  confess  that  I  set  out  for  the  theatre  on  this  occasion  with  a 
marked  lack  of  enthusiasm  for  the  Plagues  of  Egypt.  Libretti  based 
upon  the  Holy  Scriptures  may  have  their  attraction  for  a  Bible- 
reading  nation  such  as  the  English,2  or  even  in  Italy,  where  they  are 

1  See  below,  chapters  xxvii-xxxiy,  which  deal  with  the  art  of  singing  as  it  was 
in  1770  and  as  it  is  to-day.  The  main  ideas  embodied  in  these  chapters,  incident 
ally,  were  gathered  during  the  course  of  conversations  with  the  group  which  I 
have  just  described. 

2  Opt  of  respect  for  the  Sacred  Text  of  the  Bible,  it  proved  too  risky  to  include 
Mose  in  the  season  of  Italian  opera  at  the  King's  Theatre,  London ;  but  in  1 823,  the 
music  was  adapted  to  make  a  new  opera,  entitled  Peter  the  Hermit.   This  is  an 


MOSE  IN  EGITTO  309 

sanctified  by  a  tradition  of  miraculous  aesthetic  beauty,  and  by  the 
memories  of  Raphael,  Michelangelo  and  Correggio.  Speaking  purely 
as  a  man  of  letters  and  as  a  student  of  humanity,  I  entertain  the 
greatest  respect  for  the  Holy  Scriptures,  which  I  revere  as  a  work  of 
art  in  the  same  category  as  the  Arabian  Nights* ;  their  comparative 
antiquity,  the  primitive  levels  of  behaviour  which  they  depict,  above 
all  the  stylistic  grandeur  of  the  writing — all  these  I  find  fascinating. 
As  a  politician,  I  admit  their  considerable  value  as  the  prop,  pillar 
and  comer-stone  of  any  aristocratic  society,  and  as  the  ultimate  justi 
fication  of  those  gorgeous  liveries  flaunted  by  so  many  English  Peers ; 
yet  this  is  still  a  somewhat  intellectual  appreciation.  As  a  moralist, 
whenever  I  think  of  the  Plagues  of  Egypt,  and  of  Pharaoh,  and  of  the 
way  in  which  it  came  to  pass,  that  at  midnight,  the  Lord  smote  all  the 
first-born  in  the  Land  of  Egypt  (Exodus  xii,  v.  29),  my  memories  race 
back  relentlessly, to  those  twelve  or  fifteen  priests  amongst  whom  I 
spent  my  childhood  in  the  time  of  the  Terror, 

Thus  it  came  about  that  I  found  myself  at  the  San-Carlo  in  no  very 
propitious  frame  of  mind,  feeling  rather  like  a  man  who  has  been 
offered  a  front  seat  at  an  auto-da-fe,  where  the  victims  have  been 
furnished  by  some  low  piece  of  political  knavery  manoeuvred  by 
M.  Comte. 

The  opera  opens  with  the  so-called  Plague  of  Darkness,  a  plague 
which  offers  any  number  of  facile  pitfalls  to  the  unwary  dramatic 
producer,  and  consequently  lends  itself  to  absurdity — ail  you  have  to 
do  is  to  dim  the  footlights  and  the  overhead  battens!  When  the 
curtain  went  up,  I  am  afraid  that  I  simply  burst  out  laughing  at  the 
sight  of  all  those  wretched  little  groups  of  Egyptians,  plunged  into 
Stygian  darkness  by  the  Plague  of  Dimmers,  lost  in  the  wilderness  of 
an  apparently  boundless  stage,  and  praying  like  fury.  Yet ...  before  I 
had  heard  twenty  bars  of  this  superb  introduzione,  I  could  see  nothing 
less  profoundly  moving  than  a  whole  population  plunged  into  deep 
misery;  it  might  have  been  the  people  of  Marseilles  in  prayer  at  the 

experiment  which  interests  me  considerably,  for  there  are  four  or  five  of  Rossini's 
operas  whose  plots,  as  they  stand,  are  so  absurd  that  the  imagination  staggers  and 
recoils;  but  I  have  hope  now  that  new  and  adequate  libretti  may  be  written  for 
them.  There  are  some  thirty  literary  periodicals  in  England,  and  it  would  be 
dif  cult  to  pick  out  a  single  page  among  the  whole  collection  which  is  unsanctl- 
fied  by  some  Biblical  allusion;  not  to  mention  Mr  Irving — a  figure  who  is  incon 
ceivable  in  France,  even  in  Toulouse! 


310  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

outbreak  of  plague  in  1720.  Pharaoh,  his  obstinacy  vanquished  by 
the  lamentations  of  his  people,  cries  out : 

Venga  Mose!1 

Benedetti,  who  was  playing  the  part  of  Moses,  entered  wearing  a 
costume  which  was  sublime  in  its  very  simplicity,  and  had  been 
copied  from  Michelangelo's  statue  in  the  church  of  San  Pietro  in 
Vincoli,  in  Rome;  and  before  his  supplication  to  the  Almighty  had 
completed  its  first  sentence,  every  shred  of  critical  scepticism  had 
departed  from  my  soul;  Moses  was  no  longer  a  shoddy  conjuror 
turning  his  rod  into  a  serpent  and  playing  cheap  tricks  on  a  primitive 
simpleton,  but  a  great  Minister  of  the  All-Powerful,  who  could  cause 
a  vile  tyrant  to  shake  upon  his  throne.  I  can  still  recall  the  over 
whelming  impression  produced  by  the  first  hearing  of  the  words: 

Eterno,  immense,  incomprensibil  Dio!2 

The  score,  in  this  scene  of  Moses'  first  entrance,  is  reminiscent  of 
Haydn  at  his  most  sublime— perhaps  too  directly  reminiscent.  The 
introduzione,  which  extends  over  a  good  half  of  Act  I,  and  which  has 
the  audacity  to  risk  twenty-six  consecutive  repetitions  of  the  same 
vocal  formula,  represented  Rossini's  most  serious  excursion  into 
academic  music  up  to  that  date.  Such  temerity,  combined  with  such 
monumental  patience,  must  have  cost  infinite  pains  to  any  genius  so 
volatile  as  that  of  Rossini.  The  musical  erudition  displayed  in  this 
passage  is  as  profound  as  anything  in  Winter  or  Weigl;  but  at  the 
same  time,  the  fertility  of  his  invention3  would  have  scared  the  wits 
out  of  either  of  these  worthy  Teutons,  who  would  have  thought  them 
selves  stark,  staring  mad!  Rossini's  grasp  of  his  medium  is  so  perfect, 
that  one  might  suspect  him  of  having  invented  the  science  of  music, 
rather  than  of  having  learnt  it.  Mose  enjoyed  an  instantaneous 
triumph  in  Naples — a  triumph,  moreover,  which  was  pre-eminently 
French  in  character.  The  overwhelming  applause  which  greets  a  scene 
from  Racine  or  Voltaire  inspires,  in  the  breast  of  any  typical  Parisian 
playgoer,  a  secret  spasm  of  delight  and  self-congratulation  over  the 
extent  of  his  acquaintance  with  Literature  and  the  unequalled  per- 

1  Come,  Moses!  *  Eternal,  infinite,  Incomprehensible  God! 

8  "Fertility  of  invention"*  in  a  passage  containing  twenty-six  repeats  of  the 
same  musical  idea?  This  sounds  like  really  first-rate  academic  nonsense ! 


MOSE  IN  EGITTO  311 

fection  of  his  own  good  taste;  and,  as  each  rolling  Racinian  period 
reverberates  through  the  theatre,  he  calls  over  in  rapid  review  all  the 
excellent  reasons  with  which  the  thundering  demi-gods  of  the 
Academic,  La  Harpe,  Geoffroy,  Dussault,  etc.,  etc.,  have  furnished 
him  to  demonstrate  with  infallible  logic  why  he  should  admire  it.  In 
Naples,  no  one  cares  a  fig  for  academic  learning,  save  only  in  music; 
and  that  is  why,  that  evening,  at  the  prospect  of  a  markedly  "aca 
demic"  opera,  Neapolitan  vanity  was  rapturously  flattered  to  have 
the  opportunity  of  applauding  something  really  abstruse.  Among  my 
neighbours,  the  one  emotion  which  I  could  clearly  observe  peeping 
through  a  score  of  different  disguises,  was  that  of  vanity,  gratified 
beyond  expression  at  being  able  to  display  its  own  erudition.  Some 
would  effuse  over  this  chord  on  the  'cellos,  others  at  that  note  on  the 
horn,  and  its  peculiar  appositeness;  while  others  again  (for  already 
there  was  some  jealousy  of  Rossini  abroad  in  the  land)  would 
temper  their  enthusiasm  with  secret  spite,  and  hint  that  this  "un 
speakably  beautiful  introduzione™  might  have  been  borrowed  from 
an  (unspecified)  German  composer.  The  second  half  of  the  first  act 
went  off  without  a  hitch;  it  deals  with  the  Plague  of  Fire,  represented 
on  the  stage  by  a  somewhat  damp-looking  display  of  fireworks.  The 
second  act,  which  deals  with  the  Plague  of  Heaven-knows-what-else, 
was  received  with  enthusiasm,  particular  praise  being  reserved  for  a 
magnificent  duet,  at  which  cries  of  bravo  maestro!  evviva  Rossini! 
echoed  through  the  theatre  from  all  sides.  The  Crown  Prince,  son  of 
the  Pharaoh  of  Egypt,  is  secretly  in  love  with  a  young  Jewish  maiden; 
and  when  Moses  leads  his  people  out  of  the  land,  she  comes  alone  to 
bid  her  lover  an  everlasting  farewell.  Nature  has  furnished  music  with 
no  finer  theme  for  a  duet.  If  Rossini  has  failed  to  realize  all  the  possi 
bilities  of  the  situation  in  his 

Principessa  avventurata  ...* 

his  attempt  at  least  leaves  the  listener  vividly  aware  of  all  its  implica 
tions.  It  was  performed  with  great  skill  and  ability  by  Signorina 
Colbran  and  Nozzari;  their  only  defect,  which  they  shared  with  the 
composer,  was  a  slight  lack  of  genuine  sincerity  and  pathos. 
In  the  third  act,  I  have  forgotten  exactly  what  sequence  led  Totoia, 
*JO  fortunate  Princess  ..*! 


312  LIFE  OF   ROSSINI 

the  librettist,  to  introduce  the  Crossing  of  the  Red  Sea — completely 
oblivious  of  the  fact  that  this  "crossing"  was  not  precisely  as  simple 
a  problem  for  the  stage-manager  as  the  Plague  of  Darkness.  Owing  to 
the  relative  positions  of  the  stage  and  the  auditorium,  no  theatre  is 
equipped  to  show  the  sea  except  on  a  back-cloth;  but  in  this  instance, 
it  was  absolutely  essential  to  produce  a  sea,  by  hook  or  by  crook,  on 
the  actual  front-stage,  since  the  narrative  demanded  that  it  should  be 
crossedl  The  stage-technician  of  the  San-Carlo,  desperately  intent 
upon  finding  a  solution  to  an  insoluble  problem,  had  finished  up  by 
producing  a  real  masterpiece  of  absurdity.  Seen  from  the  pit,  the 
"sea"  rose  up  into  the  air  some  five  or  six  feet  above  its  retaining 
"shores";  whereas  the  occupants  of  the  boxes,  who  were  favoured 
with  a  bird's-eye  view  of  the  "raging  billows",  also  had  a  birds'-eye 
view  of  the  little  lazzaroni  whose  job  it  was  to  "divide  the  waters"  at 
the  sound  of  Moses'  voice!  In  Paris,  no  one  would  have  cared  a  jot;1 
but  in  Naples,  where  the  decor  is  as  often  as  not  a  masterpiece  of  art 
and  skill,  there  is  a  certain  sensitiveness  towards  the  achievements  or 
failures  of  this  particular  aspect  of  the  production;  and  audiences 
refuse  to  acquiesce  in  any  contraption  which  seems  to  them  more 
than  usually  absurd  or  outrageous.  Their  perception  of  the  ridicu 
lous  is  exceedingly  acute;  consequently,  the  scene  was  greeted  with  a 
gale  of  laughter,  and  the  general  merriment  was  so  frank  and  so 
open,  that  no  one  really  had  the  heart  to  turn  surly  and  whistle.  In 
point  of  fact,  however,  scarcely  a  soul  in  the  whole  audience  listened 
to  the  last  part  of  the  opera  at  all;  everybody  was  far  too  busy  discus 
sing  the  astounding  introduzione. 

The  next  day,  everybody  was  whispering  that  the  real  composer 
was  not  Rossini  at  all,  but  some  German  or  other,  whose  name  I 
forget.  My  own  impression,  I  recall  very  clearly,  was  that  the  passage 
contained  too  many  felicitous  ingenuities,  the  orchestral  scoring  too 
much  nonchalant  sleight-of-hand  (if  I  may  be  pardoned  the  expres 
sion,  which  seems  curiously  apt  when  applied  to  Rossini),  for  me 
ever  to  be  convinced  of  its  Teutonic  origin.  Nevertheless,  since 
Rossini's  laziness  on  the  eve  of  a  premiere  is  so  proverbial  that  no 
plagiarism  is  too  monstrous  to  be  attributed  to  him,  I  followed  the 
general  trend  of  opinion,  and  suspended  judgment  until  the  moment, 

1  We  in  Paris  are  quite  accustomed  to  the  sight  of  mountains  which  throw 
shadows  on  the  sky;  cf.  Don  Giovanni,  scene  I,  as  revived  in  1823. 


MOSE  IN  EGITTO  313 

some  six  weeks  later,  when  a  reply  was  received  from  that  poor  devil 
of  a  German  composer  (whose  name  I  still  forget),  protesting,  upon 
the  last  shreds  of  Ms  national  honour,  that  never  in  his  life  had  he 
had  the  miraculous  good  fortune  to  compose  the  fabulous  Intro- 
duzione  which  had  been  sent  to  Mm  for  inspection.  TMs  was  the 
signal  for  Mos&  to  embark  upon  an  unheard-of  run  of  success,  and 
the  Neapolitans  grew  daily  more  rapturous  at  this  rare  chance  which 
had  been  vouchsafed  them  to  applaud  harmony  and  erudition  in  the 
same  opera! 

The  following  season  (so  I  am  informed)  Mose  was  revived,  to  the 
same  thunderous  applause  for  Act  I,  and  to  the  same  ungovernable 
fits  of  laughter  for  the  Passage  of  the  Red  Sea.  I  was  not  in  Naples  at 
the  time;  but  I  was  there  when  a  third  revival  was  announced*.  On 
the  eve  of  the  first  performance,  Rossini,  who  was  as  usual  lounging 
in  bed  and  holding  court  to  a  score  or  so  of  acquaintances,  was 
interrupted  (to  the  immense  delight  of  everyone  present)  by  the 
appearance  of  the  librettist  Totola,  who  came  rushing  into  the  room, 
utterly  unmindful  of  the  assembled  company,  and  shrieked  at  the  top 
of  Ms  voice:  Maestro!  maestro!  ho  salvato  Fatta  terzol—E  che  hai 
fatto  ...?  demanded  Rossini,  mimicking  the  curious  mixture  of  bur 
lesque  and  pedantry  which  made  up  the  wretched  poet's  manner: 
"My  poor  friend,  what  on  earth  could  you  do?  They'll  laugh  this 
time,  just  as  they  always  do!"  "Maestro.,  Fve  written  a  prayer  for  the 
Jews  just  before  the  passage  of  the  Red  Sea,"  cried  the  wretched, 
snivelling  hack,  hauling  from  his  pocket  an  immense  wad  of  papers, 
all  docketed  like  a  lawyer's  brief,  and  handing  them  to  Rossini,  who 
promptly  lay  down  again  in  bed  to  decipher  the  tangle  of  hiero- 
glypMc  jottings  scribbled  in  the  margin  of  the  principal  document. 
While  he  was  reading,  the  silly  little  poetaster  was  circling  the  room 
with  a  nervous  smile,  shaking  hands,  and  wMspering  over  and  over 
again:  Maestro,  e  lavoro  d'uri1  ora}-  Rossini  glared  at  him:  E  lavoro 
d'uri*  ora,  he!  The  scribbler,  half  terrified  out  of  Ms  wits,  and  more 
than  ever  apprehensive  of  some  catastropMc  practical  joke,  tried  to 
make  Mmself  inconspicuous,  tittered  awkwardly,  and  glanced  at 
Rossini:  Si9  signor,  si,  signor  maestro!  "Very  well,  then,"  exclaimed 
the  composer,  "If  it  only  took  you  an  hour  to  write  the  words,  I  shall 
manage  to  write  the  music  in  fifteen  minutes!"  Whereupon  he  leapt 
1  Maestro,  it  only  took  an  hour's  work. 


314  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

out  of  bed,  and,  sitting  down  to  a  table  (still  in  his  nightshirt),  dashed 
off  the  music  for  the  Prayer  in  eight  or  ten  minutes  at  the  most,  with 
out  a  piano,  and  undeterred  by  the  conversation  of  his  friends,  which 
continued  as  loud  as  ever  regardless  of  his  preoccupations,  everyone 
talking  away  at  the  top  of  his  voice,  as  is  normal  in  Italy.  "Here's 
your  music — take  it!"  he  barked  finally  at  the  librettist,  who 
promptly  vanished,  leaving  Rossini  to  jump  back  into  bed,  convulsed 
with  laughter  at  Totola's  fright.  On  the  following  evening,  I  made  a 
special  point  of  going  to  the  San-Carlo.  The  first  act  met  with  its 
customary  enthusiastic  reception;  and  when  the  curtain  went  up  on 
the  third — on  the  notorious  Passage  of  the  Red  Sea — there  were  the 
usual  witticisms,  and  the  same  irrepressible  urge  to  laugh.  In  fact,  the 
laughter  was  already  bursting  forth  audibly  from  the  pit,  when  the 
audience  suddenly  became  aware  that  Moses  was  starting  on  an 
unfamiliar  ar  ia: 

Dal  tuo  stellate  soglio  ...* 

— a  prayer  which  all  the  people  echo  in  chorus  after  Moses.  Caught 
unawares  by  this  innovation,  the  pit  found  itself  listening,  and  the 
incipient  laughter  died  away.  This  first  chorus,  which  is  a  fine  com 
position,  is  in  the  minor  key;  but  then  Aaron  takes  up  the  prayer,  and 
his  words  in  turn  are  repeated  by  the  people.  Finally  Elcia,  the  Jewish 
girl,  implores  heaven  with  the  same  supplications,  and  the  people 
reply  again;  upon  which,  all  kneel,  and  with  mounting  fervour  repeat 
the  same  prayer;  the  miracle  is  accorded,  and  the  waters  divide  to 
make  a  passage  for  the  people  protected  of  the  Lord.  This  final 
section  is  in  the  major*.2  It  is  impossible  to  imagine  the  thunder-clap 
which  burst  upon  the  theatre,  echoing  and  re-echoing  until  it  seemed 
that  the  very  walls  must  give  way.  People  stood  up  in  their  boxes  and 
leaned  out  over  the  balconies,  shouting  to  crack  the  vault  of  heaven: 
hello!  hello!  o  che  hello!  I  have  never  known  such  a  triumph,  such  a 
furore — which  was  all  the  more  tremendous  since  everyone  had  come 
expecting  to  laugh  or  jeer.  The  success  of  la  Gazza  ladra  in  Milan  was 
striking  enough;  but,  because  of  the  national  temperament  in  that 
cooler  climate,  was  considerably  less  restrained.  O  happy  land  of 
Naples!  This  was  no  longer  the  applause  of  satisfied  vanity,  the  self- 

1  From  Thy  starry  throne  ... 

2  Here  we  have  the  key  to  any  successful  production  of  this  opera:  the  miracle 
must  occur  during  the  Prayer,  upon  a  sign  from  Moses  as  he  turns  to  face  the  sea. 


HOSE  IN  EGITTO  315 

congratulatory  raptures  of  a  French  audience,  as  it  had  been  in  the 
first  act;  this  was  the  pure  and  overflowing  gratitude  of  hearts  whose 
joy  was  perfect,  towards  the  god  who  had  poured  out  before  them 
such  abundance  from  his  cornucopia  of  pleasure.  Who  will  deny,  in 
the  light  of  such  an  experience,  that  music  can  provoke  an  immediate 
and  physical  nervous  reaction?  This  Prayer  all  but  brings  tears  to  my 
eyes  whenever  I  think  of  it. 

In  Germany,  Mose  is  considered  to  be  Rossini's  masterpiece — a 
verdict  which,  if  flattering,  is  obviously  sincere,  for  in  this  opera, 
Rossini  has  condescended  to  speak  in  the  native  language  of  Ger 
many  itself:  erudition,  combined  with  complete  self-abasement 
before  the  sacrificial  altar  of  orchestral  harmony. 

Personally,  however,  I  confess  that  I  find  Mosk  in  many  respects 
boring.  I  cannot  deny  that  I  received  a  great  deal  of  pleasure  from  it 
during  the  course  of  the  first  ten  performances  which  I  saw,  nor  that 
I  could  pleasurably  devote  an  evening  to  it,  say,  once  a  month, 
provided  that  I  felt  in  the  right  mood,  and  provided  above  all  that 
the  standard  of  performance  were  well  above  average]  nevertheless,  I 
feel  that  it  is  basically  poor  theatre.  There  is  a  lack  of  coherence  and 
continuity  in  the  emotional  characterization,  and  I  lose  the  thread  of 
sympathy.1  Rossini's  real  masterpieces  bear  watching  thirty  times  on 
end,  and  still  fill  me  with  exquisite  delight,  even  when  they  are  poorly 
sung. 

In  spite  of  the  German  school  (which  has  a  branch-office  in  the 
Conservatoire  de  Paris),  and  in  spite  of  all  the  fine  Teutonic  names 
which  swarm  in  our  orchestras  and  salons,  I  am  convinced  that  such 
qualified  success  as  this  opera  did  achieve  in  France  was  due  exclus 
ively  to  the  performance  of  Madame  Pasta,  who  to  some  extent 
redeemed  the  part  of  the  Jewish  maiden  Eltia.  In  particular,  the 
turban  she  wore  with  her  costume  was  hugely  appreciated,  and  she 
was  outstanding  in  her  rendering  of  the  duet: 

1  The  platitudinous  loves  and  the  all-too-ordinary  emotions  of  commonplace 
mortals,  which  fill  literally  hundreds  of  new  novels  published  every  year,  are  the 

very  stuff  of  which  music  is  made ;  the  miracle  of  music  is  that:,  proportionately  to 
the  genius  of  the  individual  composer,  it  can  strip  them  of  their  crust  of  vulgarity, 
and  whisk  them  off  into  new  regions  of  sublimity.  The  superb  epics  of  Job  and  of 
the  Levite  ofEphrafm,  or  the  episode  of  Ruth,  lend  themselves  supremely  weH  as 
material  for  the  opera  seria.  From  motives  of  respect,  I  forbear  to  include  the 
Passion  of  Christ,  which  is  one  of  the  finest  subjects  which  could  be  offered  to  any 
modem  audience.  The  Author  of  this  work  has  himself  attempted  a  tragedy 
entitled  the  Passion  of  Jesus. 


316  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

Ah!  sepuoi  cosl  lasdarmi  ...* 

The  introduzione  was  applauded,  thanks  to  some  first-rate  singing 
by  Zuchelli,  supported  by  the  fine  voice  of  Levasseur  in  the  part  of 
Moses;  and  the  Prayer  proved  irresistible.  Indeed,  on  days  when  one 
is  in  the  right  mood,  this  Prayer  sticks  in  one's  head,  and  sets  one 
humming  the  whole  evening. 

Mose  was  the  first  of  Rossini's  operas  for  which  he  received 
adequate  payment ;  he  sold  it  in  fact  for  4,200  francs.  By  comparison, 
Tancredi  had  brought  in  no  more  than  600  francs,  and  Otello,  100 
louts.  The  convention  which  is  observed  in  Italy  is  that  a  score 
remains  for  two  years  the  property  of  the  impresario  who  employed 
the  composer  in  the  first  instance,  after  which  it  becomes  public 
property.  It  was  as  a  direct  result  of  this  ridiculous  piece  of  legislation 
that  the  music-publisher  Ricordi,  of  Milan,  was  able  to  make  a 
fortune  out  of  Rossini's  operas,  while  the  composer  himself  lan 
guished  in  comparative  poverty.  Far  from  drawing  any  fixed  annual 
royalties  from  his  operas,  as  would  be  the  case  in  France,  Rossini  is 
forced  to  appeal  to  the  obliging  disposition  of  his  various  impresari*, 
if  at  any  time,  during  the  first  two  years,  he  wishes  his  works  to  be 
performed  at  any  theatre  other  than  that  for  which  they  were  origin 
ally  written;  and  moreover,  no  production  of  this  kind  can  ever 
bring  him  in  a  penny. 

Rossini  could  certainly  compose  an  opera  of  the  type  which  is 
popular  at  the  Theatre  Feydeau  within  three  days;  and  at  that,  more 
heavily  loaded  with  musical  numbers  (8  or  9  items)  than  usual.  He 
has  often  been  advised  to  come  to  France,  and  to  compose  new 
music  for  all  the  old  light-opera  libretti  written  by  Sedaine,  Hele, 
Marmontel  and  other  competent  playwrights  who  knew  how  to 
handle  a  dramatic  situation  properly.  In  less  than  six  months, 
Rossini  could  have  accumulated  a  capital  which  would  give  him  a 
regular  income  of  200  louis  per  annum — a  sum  which,  before  his  mar 
riage  with  Signorina  Colbran,  would  have  represented  undreamed-of 
wealth.  But  leaving  aside  this  aspect  of  the  matter,  no  advice 

1  Ah  I  ifthou  canst  leave  me  thus  ... 

Rossini  has  transformed  the  noble  and  moving  passage  for  solo  clarinet  from 
the  overture  to  Otello,  into  an  aria  for  Pharaoh's  son  Osiris. 

2  I  must  beg  the  reader's  pardon  for  keeping  a  number  of  words  in  the  original 
Italian;  they  reflect  aspects  of  life  which  have  no  equivalent  in  France,  and  any 
translation  would  necessarily  be  misleading. 


MOSE  IN  EGITTO  317 

could  have  been  more  hopelessly  wrong  than  that  which  urged  him  to 
come  to  Paris.  Half  a  dozen  years  among  us  would  have  been  quite 
enough  to  turn  Rossini  into  the  most  commonplace  of  mortals;  he 
would  have  been  thrice  decorated,  and  he  would  have  forfeited  half  his 
gaiety  and  all  his  genius;  his  soul  would  have  lost  its  resilience  for 
ever.  Compare,  not  our  own  great  artists  (for  I  have  no  malicious 
ambitions  as  a  satirist),  but,  for  instance,  Goethe  in  his  own  Auto 
biography,  and  in  particular  in  his  Kampagne  in  Frankreich  1792;  here 
is  glaring  evidence  of  what  happens  to  men  of  genius  when  they  set 
foot  in  the  Courts  of  Kings!  Canova  refused  to  live  at  the  court  of 
Napoleon ;  but  Rossini,  in  Paris,  would  never  be  free  of  the  importun 
ity  of  courtiers.  So  far,  he  has  known  no  one  but  singers  and 
impresari;  with  the  result  that  he,  Rossini,  a  penniless  Italian  music 
ian,  betrays  in  his  thought  a  consciousness  of  dignity  and  a  sense  of 
legitimate  pride  a  hundred  times  more  remarkable  than  anything 
which  is  to  be  seen  in  Goethe,  who  is  a  far-famed  philosopher.  For 
Rossini,  a  Prince  of  the  Blood  is  nothing  more  than  an  ordinary  man 
invested  in  the  robes  of  some  office  or  other,  of  greater  or  lesser 
importance  as  the  case  may  be,  whose  functions  he  exercises  with 
greater  or  lesser  success. 

If  Rossini  were  to  live  in  France,  he  would  have  to  develop  into  an 
agile-tongued  sophist,  a  manipulator  of  feminine  intrigues  and  the 
Lord  knows  what  else  besides — even  apoliticianl  In  Italy,  the  society 
in  which  he  lives  has  allowed  Mm  to  concentrate  on  being  the  only 
thing  that  mattered — a  musician.  A  blue  suit  with  a  black  waistcoat 
and  a  cravat — this  is  Ms  unchanging  morning  attire,  and  you  could 
present  him  to  the  most  high-born  princess  in  all  the  world  without 
inducing  Mm  to  alter  it.  Yet  this  barbarous  unconventionality  has 
never  prevented  women  from  finding  Mm  agreeable;  whereas  in 
France,  one  and  all  would  have  concluded :  He* s  just  a  boor!  And  thus 
it  comes  to  pass,  that  France  is  simply  teeming  with  delightful  little 
artists  who  can  gaily  turn  their  hand  to  anytMng  ...  except  to  the  job 
of  creating  masterpieces ! 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

Concerning  the  Revolution 

which  Rossini  has  brought  about  in  the  Art 

of  Singing 

JL  HE  great  singers  of  the  past,  la  Gabrielli,  la  Todi,  la  de'  Amicis, 
la  Banti  and  their  like,  have  disappeared  for  ever,1  and  nothing 
remains  of  the  spell  of  their  voices  save  an  echo,  fading  every  day  a 
little  towards  silence,  of  the  impassioned  enthusiasm  of  their  con 
temporaries;  these  great  names,  all  household  words,  and  yet  from 
day  to  day  awakening  sparser  and  vaguer  memories,  are  fated  eventu 
ally  to  yield  pride  of  place  to  other  celebrities  nearer  our  own  time. 
The  same  fate  awaits  us  one  and  all* :  Le  Kain  and  Garrick;  Vigano, 
Babini,  Giani,  Sestini  and  PacchiarottL  Even  the  great  Conquerors 
are  not  exempt:  what  remains  of  them?  A  name,  a  legend  perhaps, 
perhaps  the  ashes  of  some  burnt-out  city  ...  little  more,  in  fact,  than 
there  remains  of  a  once-famous  actor.  As  you  see,  I  take  little  stock 
of  that  popular  veneration  which  haunts  the  souls  of  the  unenlight 
ened — souls  which  were  born  to  revere  Authority  in  an  embroidered 
coat,2  and  who  still  adore  a  King  three  thousand  years  after  he  is 

1 1  cannot  resist  the  temptation,  at  this  point,  of  setting  down  one  or  two  of  the 
ideas  which  were  discussed  in  those  Neapolitan  conversations  in  which  I  occasion 
ally  participated,  and  which  I  found  so  enthralling.  If,  in  this  and  the  following 
chapters,  the  reader  should  find  any  notions  which  may  be  either  agreeable  or 
useful,  their  true  originator,  to  whom  all  credit  is  due,  is  M.  le  Chevalier  de 
Micheroux,*  sometime  Minister  in  Dresden.  Moreoyer,  I  am  deeply  indebted  to 
this  enlightened  music-lover  for  a  number  of  corrections  which  he  has  bejen  kind 
enough  to  make  respecting  certain  errors  of  fact  of  which  I  had  otherwise  been 
guilty  elsewhere  in  this  biography.  Music  flourishes  in  Italy  without  leaving  a 
trace;  even  articles  which  appear  in  the  periodical  press  are  invariably  either 
paeans  of  praise  or  tirades  of  abuse,  and  furthermore,  rarely  commit  themselves 
to  any  positive  statement  of  any  kind.  Since  this  book  is  simply  a  monstrous  con 
glomeration  of  minute  particulars,  it  will  inevitably  contain  many  errors.  To 
establish  the  exact  date  of  the  first  performance  of  this  opera  or  that  may  well  cost 
me  more  hard  labour  than  the  writing  of  a  score  of  letters ;  and  in  the  end,  I  am 
probably  none  too  confident  of  the  date  which  I  finally  decide  to  adopt. 

2  People,  for  instance,  like  those  who  have  recently  been  coming  and  cheering, 
during  eighty  consecutive  performances,  at  the  sight  of  Sulla  insolently  lording  it 
over  the  populace  of  Rome . . .  Le.  Napoleon  scornfully  riding  roughshod  over  the 
people  of  France, 


REVOLUTION  IN  SINGING  319 

dead  and  buried,  for  no  better  reason  than  that  he  was  a  King;  folk,  I 
mean,  who  reverently  raise  their  hats  as  they  cross  the  threshold  of 
the  Tomb  of  Psammis  the  Pharaoh,  Ruler  in  the  Land  of  Egypt.  But 
to  return  to  heroes  who  truly  deserve  fame,  how  much  more  do  we 
know  about  Marcellus,  the  Sword  of  Rome,  than  about  Roscius  the 
actor?  And,  fifty  years  from  now,  who  will  be  the  more  famous, 
le  marechal  Lovendhal  or  Le  Kain?  Furthermore,  In  estimating  the 
renown  of  famous  captains,  allowance  must  be  made  for  the  contri 
bution  of  luck  and  opportunity.  If  Desaix  had  been  elected  First 
Magistrate  of  France,  is  it  not  probable  that  he  would  have  been 
simpler,  nobler  and  better  than  Napoleon?  And  is  it  not  fair  to 
suggest  that  a  good  half  of  Napoleon's  glorious  soldiership,  the 
devotion  of  his  Guards,  for  instance,  or  the  phenomenal  marches 
which  he  forced  upon  Ms  troops  in  1809,  may  be  due  to  the  authority 
of  the  Sovereign  Power  which  he  held  between  his  hands,  and 
which  enabled  him  to  promote  any  plain  colonel  who  happened 
to  catch  his  fancy  to  the  rank  of  Lieutenant-General  within  three 
months? 

Having  fired  off  this  petard  at  those  honest  worthies  who,  as  they 
sit  complacently  stroking  their  Orders  of  Merit,  think  that  it  weU 
becomes  their  position  to  sneer  at  artists,  let  us  come  back  again  to 
those  truly  exalted  beings  who  had  the  courage  to  turn  their  backs  on 
the  antechambers  of  kings,  who  felt  and  knew  the  most  ennobling 
passions  which  the  human  heart  can  contain,  and  who,  through  the 
magic  of  these  very  passions,  delighted  and  charmed  their  con 
temporaries. 

We  in  our  generation  have  watched  the  birth  of  many  new  sciences 
and  of  a  number  of  hitherto  undiscovered  arts;  for  example,  the 
taste  for  the  picturesque  in  landscape-painting,  as  in  landscape- 
gardening,  was  still  undreamed-of  in  the  days  of  Voltaire — a  fact  to 
which  our  dreary  chdteaux  built  under  Louis  XV,  with  their  paved 
courtyards  and  their  mathematical  avenues  of  denuded  trees,  bear 
eloquent  witness.  It  is  natural  enough  that  the  subtlest  of  the  arts, 
those  in  fact  which  seek  to  delight  the  most  highly-cultivated  minds, 
should  be  the  last  to  develop. 

Who  knows,  therefore?  Perhaps  in  our  own  day  some  genius  wiE 
master  the  secret  art  of  describing  with  subHme  accuracy  the  rare  and 
individual  gifts  of  Mademoiselle  Mars  or  of  Madame  Pasta;  and  £o, 


320  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

a  hundred  years  hence,  these  miraculous  virtues  will  continue  to  live 
on  in  the  memory  of  man,  as  intact  and  as  sharply  personal  as  ever. 

An  exact  and  individual  record  of  the  voices  of  our  great  prime 
dome  (should  such  a  thing  become  possible)  would  not  only  profit 
their  own  celebrity,  but  would  open  the  road  directly  to  vast  and 
unlooked-for  progress  in  the  art  of  singing  as  a  whole.  Great  philo 
sophers  have  maintained  that  the  characteristic  which  distinguishes 
the  rational  spirit  of  man  from  the  marvellous  instinct  of  certain 
animals,  is  precisely  that  faculty,  shared  alike  by  all  members  of  the 
human  race,  of  transmitting  to  succeeding  generations  whatever 
progress,  however  inconsiderable,  may  have  been  made  in  the  arts, 
trades  or  industries  to  which  the  earlier  lives  have  been  devoted.  This 
process  of  transmission  is  already  fully-developed  in  respect  of  a 
Euclid  or  a  Lagrange;  for  a  Raphael,  a  Canova,  a  Morghen  it  is  no 
more  than  partially  available;  yet  may  we  hope,  one  day,  to  see  it 
fully  established  even  for  the  art  of  a  Davide,1  a  Velluti  or  a  Madame 
Fodor?  Perhaps  the  first  step  in  the  right  direction  may  lie  in  the 
development  of  a  new  style  of  writing  about  singing— a  style  which  is 
simple  and  free  of  turgid  rhetoric.  This  is  what  I  shall  attempt  to 
achieve  in  the  course  of  the  following  pages. 

If  art  is  to  be  a  source  of  genuine  pleasure,  the  first  and  essential 
condition  is  for  it  to  produce  a  powerful  emotional  reaction  in  the 
observer.  Let  me  digress  once  more  to  remark  that,  generally  speak 
ing,  the  scholar,  the  savant  who  is  distinguished,  either  on  a  national 
level  or  else  within  the  narrower  limits  of  a  particular  group  or  class, 
for  his  erudition,  is  never  a  member  of  that  exalted  band  of  mortals 
endowed  by  heaven  with  the  rarer  gifts  of  sensibility.  A  minute  pro 
portion  of  these  favoured  beings— for  instance,  among  the  Ancients, 
one  might  name  Aristotle— may  chance  to  possess  the  ability  for 
working  out  an  amazingly  precise  and  detailed  analysis  of  a  series  of 
aesthetic  and  emotional  experiences  from  which,  in  the  past,,  they 
have  received  indescribable  pleasure.  But  the  ordinary  run  of  philo 
sophers,  whose  mental  equipment  consists  exclusively  of  a  highly- 

1  The  elder  Davide,  father  of  the  present  artist,  whose  voice  once  enjoyed  a 
reputation  equal  to  that  of  his  son,  is  constantly  reproaching  the  latter  for  not 
singing  with  sufficient  sweetness,  and  for  sacrificing  too  much  vocal  quality  in  the 
cause  of  mere  technical  acrobatics.  I  heard  the  elder  Davide  sing  in  the  opera- 
house  at  Lodi  in  1820;  lie  was  said  to  be  then  seventy  years  old.  He  now  lives  in 
Bergamo,  as  does  also  our  worthy  friend  Mayer,  the  composer  of  Ginevra  di 
Scozfa. 


REVOLUTION  IN  SINGING  321 

polished  technique  of  logical  deduction — a  technique  which,  in  all 
other  fields  of  learning,  reason  and  human  endeavour,  is  warranted 
to  preserve  them  faithfully  from  the  pitfalls  of  error — unfailingly  find 
themselves  overwhelmed  as  soon  as  they  venture  into  the  field  of  art 
(where  the  only  necessary  mental  equipment  consists  of  the  accumu 
lated  experience  of  violent  emotional  reactions),  and  dragged,  as  it 
were  by  some  irresistible  force,  into  the  blackest  morasses  of  absurd 
ity.  Such,  among  our  own  scholars,  was  the  fate  of  d'Alembert,  not  to 
mention  the  countless  others  whose  worth  was  inferior  to  Ms. 

In  respect  of  painting,  music,  architecture,  etc.,  the  distinction 
between  one  nation  and  another  rests  upon  the  intensity  of  pure  and 
spontaneous  sensation  which  the  average  representative  of  the  race — 
even  among  its  uneducated  classes — derives  from  these  arts.1  For 
instance,  a  race  which  is  dominated  by  an  overmastering  passion  for 
bad  music  would  be  closer  to  the  reality  of  good  taste*  than  a  race 
of  scholars  who,  by  dint  of  mental  application,  had  learned  to 
appreciate  sensibly,  rationally  and  moderately  the  most  exquisite 
music  which  was  ever  conceived.  Thus  a  priest  will  feel  greater  sym 
pathy  towards  a  fanatical,  superstitious  and  orgiastic  devotee  of  the 
gods  Fo,  Apis,  or  other  similar  absurdities,  than  for  a  balanced  and 
rational  philosopher,  whose  over-riding  concern  is  the  well-being  of 
the  human  race  combined  with  an  attitude  of  total  indifference 
towards  the  means  employed  in  securing  it,  and  who,  by  the  light  of 
unaided  reason,  shall  have  postulated  the  existence  of  One  God,  the 
Avenger  of  the  Just  and  the  Destroyer  of  the  Unjust  upon  this  earth. 

Canova  used  to  tell  a  neat  little  anecdote,  which  he  first  heard 
from  one  of  his  American  admirers.  Some  years  ago  a  primitive 
savage  had  wandered  into  the  town  of  Cincinnati,  and  found  himself 
face  to  face  with  a  wig-maker's  dummy;  and  Canova  used  to  be  able 
to  produce  a  document,  some  eight  or  ten  lines  long,  which,  he  said, 
represented  a  literal  translation  of  the  exclamations  of  astonishment 
and  enthralled  wonder  which  had  escaped  from  the  savage's  lips  at 
this  first  glimpse  of  the  artificial  wooden  head — the  first  representa 
tion  of  the  human  form  which  he  had  ever  encountered.  Canova  was 
the  mildest  and  simplest  of  men;  and  therefore  what  he,  in  Ms 

1  The  peoples  that  live  in  the  region  situated  between  the  Metise  and  the  Loire 
are  disproportionately  insensitive  to  music;  musical  perceptiveness  is  reborn, 
southwards,  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Toulouse;  northwards,  in  the  area  around 
Koln. 


322  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

modesty,  did  not  dare  to  add,  we  must  add  for  him.  Any  man  of 
taste,  upon  first  beholding  Canova's  superb  figure-group,  Venus  and 
Adonis,1  in  which  the  great  sculptor  has  portrayed  the  goddess  over 
whelmed  by  dark  forebodings  of  tragedy  as  she  bids  farewell  for  the 
last  time  to  her  lover,  who  is  already  poised  for  the  fatal  hunting 
expedition  from  which  he  is  doomed  never  to  return — any  man,  I  say, 
be  his  taste  never  so  refined,  upon  first  beholding  this  wondrous 
masterpiece  of  ineffable  grace  and  most  exquisite  feeling,2  will  of 
necessity  express  his  wonder  and  astonishment  in  precisely  the  same 
terms  as  those  which  sprang  to  the  lips  of  the  savage  confronted  with 
the  wooden  head  of  his  wig-maker's  dummy.  The  explanation  is 
simple;  for  in  actual  fact  the  sensation  of  extreme  wonderment,  the 
physical  impact  produced  upon  the  soul,  is  identical  in  the  two  cases; 
the  one  real  exception  would  arise  in  the  (all  too  common)  situation 
where  the  man  who  admires  Canova  turns  out  to  be  &  pedant,  whose 
only  intrinsic  concern  is  to  be  admired  himself  Tor  the  quality  of  his 
own  admiration.  All  the  difference  lies  in  the  external  phenomenon, 
that  is  to  say,  in  the  object  which  excites  identical  degrees  of  admira 
tion  and  rapture  in  the  two  observers,  who,  in  all  other  respects,  are 
so  utterly  dissimilar.  From  the  foregoing  passages,  it  will  be  only  too 
evident  that,  in  all  aesthetic  matters,  an  expression  of  admiration  can 
never  prove  anything  save  the  degree  of  emotional  excitement  present 
in  the  admirer,  and  can  have  no  possible  bearing  upon  the  degree  of 
merit  implicit  in  the  object  admired. 

When  somebody  informs  you  that  he  "admires"  a  great  prima 
donna,  Madame  Belloc,  for  instance,  or  Signorina  Mariani  (who  in 
my  humble  opinion,  is  the  finest  contralto  now  living),  the  first  point 

1  Owned  by  the  Marchese  Berio,  in  Naples. 

2  In  music,  it  is  the  quality  of  motion  which  exalts  the  soul  and  floods  the  mind 
with  visions  of  inexpressible  delicacy,  conveying  such  impressions  even  to  minds 
which  may  be  markedly  coarse  in  texture.  A  rough-and-ready  millionaire,  once 
truly  stirred  by  music,  lives  for  a  fleeting  instant  upon  the  same  emotional  plane 
as  a  man  of  genuine  intelligence  and  refinement. 

Sculpture,  on  the  other  hand,  inspires  the  same  infinitely  subtle  and  intangible 
reactions  through  its  essential  quality  of  immobility.  One  evening  when  his 
perceptions  were  unusually  sharpened,  Rossini  promised  to  try  and  interpret  the 
sublime  Venus  and  Adonis  group,  which  we  were  all  admiring  by  torchlight, 
through  the  medium  of  a  duet.  I  recall  clearly  that  the  Marchese  Berio  made  him 
swear  to  it,  by  the  shades  of  Pergolese. 

One  of  these  days,  I  hope  I  may  find  the  courage  to  hand  my  printer  a  treatise 
upon  the  Ideal  of  Beauty  as  it  is  interpreted  in  each  of  the  various  arts.  It  is  two 
hundred  pages  long,  of  doubtful  intelligibilily,  and  (most  serious  defect  of  all) 
desperately  lacking  in  transition-passages,  like  the  present  chapter! 


REVOLUTION  IN  SINGING  323 

to  be  elucidated  Is  whether  the  person  concerned  was  brought  up  in  a 
religion  which  has  a  fine  tradition  of  singing  in  church.  A  man  may 
be  gifted  with  the  most  phenomenal  musical  sensitivity  as  far  as  pure 
sound  is  concerned ;  yet,  if  he  chanced  to  be  born,  say,  in  Nevers,  how 
do  you  expect  him  to  be  able  to  admire  Davide?  He  is  inexorably 
bound  to  prefer  Derivis  or  Nourrit  Moreover,  it  is  not  hard  to  under 
stand  why:  simply,  because  three-fourths  of  the  fioriture  which 
Davide  normally  executes  are  so  subtle  as  to  be  completely  outside 
the  physical  range  of  his  perception.  The  good  citizens  of  Nevers 
(who  are  excellent  people,  I  assure  you,  in  all  other  respects,  but  who 
may  count  themselves  exceedingly  lucky  if  they  manage  to  hear 
decent  singing  once  in  three  months)  are  as  necessarily  baffled  by 
Davide  as  we  ourselves  once  were,  in  Berlin,  by  a  painter  who  had 
chosen  to  depict  the  whole  battle  of  Torgau,  one  of  the  victories  of 
Frederick  the  Great,  upon  a  disc  of  ivory  no  bigger  than  a  penny- 
piece.  With  the  naked  eye,  and  without  the  help  of  a  magnifying- 
glass,  nothing  was  visible  at  all.  The  "magnifying-glass",  for  want  of 
which  the  poor  citizens  of  Nevers  are  in  such  a  bad  case,  is  simply  the 
pleasure  of  having  stood  and  applauded  some  fifty  performances  of 
the  Barber  of  Seville,  each  consecrated  by  the  magnificent  singing  of 
Madame  Fodor.  By  contrast,  the  average  young  German  who  has 
chanced  to  be  born  in  the  inconspicuous  little  town  of  Sagan,  in 
Silesia,  hears  twice  a  week  in  church,  and  daily  in  the  streets  around 
his  home,  enough  music,  primitive  if  you  like,  but  still  performed  with 
clarity  and  precision,  to  give  his  ear  a  most  thorough  education.  And 
this,  precisely,  is  what  is  missing  in  the  lives  of  the  good  people  of 
Nevers — which,  incidentally,  is  a  town  of  far  greater  size  and  conse 
quence  than  Sagan. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

Some  General  Considerations:  the  History  of  Rossini's 

Development,  examined  in  relation  to  Developments 

in  the  Art  of  Singing 


w, 


HEN,  on  one  glorious  day,  the  larger  part  of  the  audience  at  any 
given  opera  comes  to  the  conclusion  that  it  need  say  no  more  to 
justify  its  applause  than  simply:  We  enjoyed  ourselves,  then  music  in 
France  may  boast  of  having  taken  an  immeasurable  step  forward.1 
Some  such  answer  the  Athenians  would  have  given,  if  a  stranger 
among  them  had  insisted  upon  some  explanation  of  the  enthusiasm 
with  which  they  greeted  the  tragedies  of  Aeschylus;  for  the  mouths  of 
those  with  nothing  to  say  were  still  sealed,  and  Aristotle  had  not  yet 
appeared  to  unseal  them.  In  our  modern  world,  on  the  other  hand, 
everybody  is  gnawed  with  the  tormenting  ambition  to  analyse  his 
reactions,  and  the  fine  folk  in  the  boxes  at  the  Theatre  Louvois  would 
wrinkle  up  their  noses  in  merciless  disdain  at  the  wretched  spectator 
who  had  no  better  sense  than  to  reply  simply:  I  feel  it  that  way.  But 
this  is  not  the  worst,  alas;  the  roots  of  our  tragedy  run  deeper  still; 
for  these  same  spectators,  who  feel  nothing  and  criticize  everything, 
have  conjured  up  in  their  wake  a  whole  crowd  of  artists — poets  who 
blossom  where  La  Harpe  has  trod,  musicians  springing  fully-armed 
from  seeds  sown  by  the  Conservatoire.  The  salons  of  Paris  are  swarm 
ing  with  such  poor  fools,  whose  only  contribution  to  Art  has  been,  in 
their  youth,  the  barren  inspirations  of  an  arid  soul,  and  in  their 
maturity,  the  exhalations  of  a  heart  scorched  into  spite  and  irri 
tability  by  the  searing  winds  of  frustrated  vanity,  and  soured  by  the 
shame  of  five  or  six  catastrophic  literary  flops.  Occasionally  one  or 
two  of  these  wretched  brutes,  desperately  discouraged  by  the  con 
stant  pandemonium  of  derisive  whistling  which  greets  them  where- 

1  Cf.  the  most  curious  arguments  set  out  in  to-day's  Journal  des  D£bats 
(18th  Sept.  1823)*.  No  one  for  whom  art  is  not  an  experience  can  ever  arrive,  by 
a  process  of  pure  ratiocination,  at  anything  more  mystical  than  the  theory  of 
recitative  i  the  art  of  singing  is  forever  beyond  his  ken;  the  way  of  feeling  is  closed 
to  him,  and  the  way  of  reason  leads  elsewhere. 


ROSSINI'S  DEVELOPMENT  325 

ever  they  venture,  and  reduced,  in  my  opinion,  to  the  level  of  the 
unhappiest  of  mortals,  turn  critic;  further,  they  appear  in  print;  and 
thus,  at  the  end  of  this  long  chain  of  circumstances,  we  may  open 
le  Miroir  and  stumble  across  this  entertaining  reflection:  The  sepul 
chral  voice  of  Madame  Pasta  .../  In  musical  language,  this  is  just 
another  way  of  denying  the  existence  of  light. 

Nothing  is  better  calculated  to  destroy  a  nation's  art,  or  to 
strangle  it  at  birth,  than  the  existence  of  such  a  rabble  of  "critics", 
whose  souls  are  stripped  stark-naked  of  every  thread  of  sensibility 
and  romantic  extravagance,  but  who,  to  make  up  for  this  strange 
deficiency,  have  pursued,  with  mathematical  exactitude  and  with  all 
the  dogged  perseverance  of  blind  aesthetic  numbness,  every  scrap  of 
erudition  which  has  been  uttered  by  mouth  or  written  in  books  con 
cerning  the  unhappy  art  upon  which  they  have  chosen  to  inflict  their 
ardour.  In  such  instances,  we  may  observe  a  literary  platitude 
realized  in  the  flesh:  the  blossoming  of  art  is  blighted  by  the  frost  of 
over-civilization.  x 

However,  I  refuse  to  be  drawn  into  the  odious  particular  conse 
quences  of  these  general  considerations;  instead,  I  shall  plunge  with 
out  further  ado  into  the  history  of  Rossini's  development  In  1810, 
when  this  great  composer  first  embarked  upon  his  career,  there  was 
perhaps  no  art  which  had  suffered  so  terribly  from  the  calamitous 
effects  of  a  whole  decade  of  sublime  wars  and  sordid  reactions  as  the 
art  of  singing.  Ever  since  1797,2  in  Milan,  in  Brescia,  in  Bergamo,  in 
Venice,  and  indeed  throughout  the  whole  of  upper  Italy,  people  had 
had  plenty  to  worry  about  besides  music  and  singing.  In  1810,  the 
Milan  Conservatoire  had  failed  to  produce  a  single  distinguished 
pupil. 

Naples  had  once  been  renowned  for  its  famous  Conservatoires^  to 
which  all  nations  had  leamt  to  turn  for  composers  and  artists 
trained  to  minister  to  their  various  pleasures,  and  to  reveal  to  their 
eyes  the  secret  powers  of  music;  but  of  all  these  notable  institutions, 

1  Unsuccessful  composers  are  the  most  dangerous  enemies  of  music.  In  France, 
by  far  the  most  penetrating  and  genuine  critics  are  young  ladies  of  five-and- 
twenty. 

2  Vide:  Comte  de  Las-Cases,  Memorial  de  Sainte-Helene  (vol.  IV):  revolt  and 
revolutionary  fervour  in  Bergamo,  Brescia,  Verona,  etc.;  followed,  in  1799,  by 
thirteen  months  of  murderous  reaction.  Vide  also:  Lettere  Sirmiensi  (1809),  by 
Signor  Apostoli,  of  Padua,  where  he  describes  the  curious  adventures  of  certain 
patriots  deported  to  the  Bocche  del  Cattaro. 


326  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

not  a  single  one  remained.  Singing  was  taught  nowhere,  save  in  a  few 
obscure  churches;  and  the  two  last  representatives  of  that  long  line  of 
geniuses  which  Naples  had  produced,  Orgitano  and  Manfrocci,  had 
been  carried  off  by  death  at  the  very  outset  of  their  careers.  Their 
succession  was  left  vacant,  and  nothing  remained  upon  the  banks  of 
the  river  Sebeto  save  the  chill  silence  of  nonentity,  or  the  colourless 
futilities  of  utterly  incurable  mediocrity. 

Babini,  that  great  singer,  who  still  awaits  a  rival  in  the  peculiar 
field  which  he  had  made  his  own,  had  lived  long  enough  to  see 
Rossini;  but  his  voice,  weakened  by  age,  had  been  unable  to  recall  the 
old  miracles  of  the  past.  Crescentini  was  still  at  the  height  of  his 
powers,  but  he  was  away  at  Saint-Cloud,  where  he  was  soon  to 
provoke  Napoleon  into  committing  the  only  major  blunder  of  which 
that  great  man  was  ever  guilty  in  respect  of  his  civil  administration;1 
and  thus,  for  all  his  high-sounding  title  of  Knight  of  the  Iron  Crown, 
he  was  lost  to  Italy. 

Marchesi  had  retired  from  the  theatre. 

Pacchiarotti,  he  of  the  sublime  voice,  was  lost  in  bitter  contempla 
tion  of  the  decadence  of  an  art  which  had  been  the  enchantment  and 
glory  of  his  life.  Pacchiarotti  was  a  true  artist;  imagine,  then,  the 
scorn  and  disgust  which  must  have  raged  in  his  soul — he  who  had 
never  been  guilty  of  a  single  sound  or  of  a  single  movement,  unless  it 
was  carefully  calculated  to  appeal  to  the  immediate  needs  of  the  mind 
and  heart  of  his  audience,  whose  satisfaction  was  the  only  reward  his 
conscience  would  allow — at  the  sight  of  a  cantatrice  who  knew  no 
worthier  ambition  than  to  mimic  and  outrival  the  mechanical  dex 
terity  of  a  violin2  in  a  variation  with  thirty-two  double-crotchets  to 
the  bar!  That  which,  in  days  of  old,  had  been  the  most  profoundly 
moving  of  all  the  arts,  was  being  quietly  transformed  before  our  very 
eyes  into  a  trade  for  rude  mechanicals.  After  the  epoch  of  Babini, 
Pacchiarotti,  Marchesi,  Crescentini  and  their  contemporaries,  the  art 
of  singing  degenerated  to  such  a  degree  of  impoverishment  that  to 
day  nothing  is  left  of  all  its  former  glory  save  the  cold  and  literal 
technique  of  rendering  an  exact  and  inanimate  note.  Such,  in  the 

1  Natum  pati  et  agere  fortia,  a  maxim  specially  designed  for  Saint  Ignatius 
Loyola. 

2  Later  on,  Signora  Catalani  included  in  her  repertoire  a  vocal  arrangement  of 
Rode's  Variations;  it  is  true,  however,  that  God  somehow  forgot  to  place  a  heart 
within  reasonable  proximity  of  this  divine  larynx. 


ROSSINI'S  DEVELOPMENT  327 

year  of  grace  1823,  is  the  highest  accomplishment  to  which  a  singer's 
ambition  may  pretend.  But  the  ottavino*  the  big  drum,  or  even  the 
serpent  which  is  used  in  church-music,  all  have  a  similar  ambition, 
and  may  achieve  a  similar  degree  of  success  in  realizing  it.  The 
glories  of  spontaneous  inspiration  have  been  banished  for  ever  from 
an  art  whose  loveliest  achievements  have  so  often  depended  upon  the 
individual  interpreter  and  his  genius  for  improvisation;  and  the  man 
whom  I  accuse  of  perpetrating  this  terrible  revolution  is  Rossini. 

1  Rossini's  favourite  instrument.  A  kind  of  small  flute  {Trans.) 


CHAPTER  XXIX 
Revolution 


TH 


.HIS  and  the  following  chapters  offer  every  prospect  of  being  the 
most  boring  in  the  whole  book;  I  offer  no  guarantee  to  the  contrary. 
In  fact,  I  have  purposely  gathered  together  in  one  section  everything 
that  I  felt  I  had  to  say  about  the  art  of  singing,  precisely  in  order  that 
the  reader  might  have  less  difficulty  in  skipping  the  whole  lot,  if  he 
felt  so  inclined.  It  must  be  clearly  understood  that  the  following 
discussions  are  destined  to  prove  an  unmitigated  and  wearisome 
nuisance  to  anyone  who  is  not  a  confirmed  habitue  of  the  Theatre 
Louvois. 

As  we  have  seen,  at  the  moment  when  Rossini  stood  poised  on  the 
brink  of  his  career,  political  events  in  Italy  during  the  previous 
decade  had  resulted  in  a  catastrophic  dearth  of  competent  singers, 
and  even  the  few  who  remained  were  on  the  verge  of  retirement  from 
the  theatre.  However,  in  spite  of  this  circumstance  of  impoverish 
ment  and  decadence,  which  offered  so  marked  a  contrast  to  the 
prolific  and  luxurious  abundance  of  talent  which  had  attended  earlier 
generations  of  composers,  Rossini's  earliest  works  are  still  written 
faithfully  in  the  style  of  his  predecessors;  at  this  period,  he  fully 
respected  the  rights  of  the  singers,  and  was  satisfied  provided  only 
that  he  could  secure  predominance  for  the  voice.  This  is  the  musical 
conception  which  underlies  such  compositions  as  Demetrio  e 
Polfbio,  ringannofelice,  laPietra  delParagoney  Tancredi?-  etc.  More 
over,  since  Rossini  had  chanced  to  fall  in  with  prime  donne  of  the 
quality  of  la  Marcolini,  la  Malanotte,  la  Manfredini  and  the  two 
Mombelli  sisters,  he  had  indeed  every  encouragement  to  compose 
music  in  which  everything  was  subservient  to  the  exigencies  of  the 
vocal  interpretation;  the  more  so,  since  he  himself  is  a  first-class 
singer,  and  has  only  to  sit  down  to  the  piano,  and  run  through  one  of 

1  Also  Rossini's  juvenilia:  la  Cambiale  di  Matrimomo,  FEquivoco  stravagante> 
Giro  in  Babilonia,  laScala  diSeta*  rOccasionefa  ULadro  and  UFiglioper  azzardo. 


REVOLUTION  329 

his  own  arias,  to  transmute  all  the  glory  of  his  known  genius  for 
melodic  invention  into  a  new,  if  less  familiar,  genius  for  practical 
interpretation.  But  at  this  point  there  occurred  one  of  those  appar 
ently  insignificant  little  happenings,  which  transformed  the  young 
composer's  entire  outlook  and  turned  his  whole  genius  in  a  new 
direction,  endowing  it  with  strange  and  unfamiliar  qualities,  which 
later  were  doomed  to  become  exaggerated  out  of  all  proportion  to 
their  original  intent,  until  in  the  end  they  have  become  a  source  of 
desperate  anxiety  even  to  the  sincerest  of  his  admirers. 

It  was  in  the  year  18141  that  Rossini  journeyed  to  Milan  to  work 
on  his  opera  Aureliano  in  Palmira;  and  there  he  met  Velluti,  who  was 
to  have  a  part  in  the  coming  production.  Velluti  was  then  in  the  full 
bloom  of  his  youth  and  vigour,  at  the  very  height  of  his  genius,  and, 
incidentally,  one  of  the  handsomest  men  of  his  century;  and  he  made 
shameless  abuse  of  his  prodigious  gifts.  Rossini  had  never  actually 
heard  this  outstanding  singer  on  the  stage ;  none  the  less,  he  sat  down 
straight  away  and  composed  the  main  cavatina  which  was  to  belong 
to  the  role. 

At  the  first  rehearsal  with  the  orchestra,  Velluti*  sang  the  aria 
straight  through,  and  Rossini  was  dazzled  with  admiration;  at  the 
second  rehearsal,  Velluti  began  to  embroider  (fiorire)  the  melody, 
and  Rossini,  finding  the  result  both  exquisite  in  performance  and 
well  in  keeping  with  his  own  intentions  as  composer,  approved;  but 
at  the  third  rehearsal,  the  original  pattern  of  the  melody  had  almost 
entirely  disappeared  beneath  a  marvellous  filigree-work  of  embroid 
ery  and  arabesque.  At  last  there  dawned  the  great  day  of  the 
premiere:  the  cavatina  itself,  and  in  fact  Velluti's  whole  performance, 
created  &  furore;  but  Rossini  found  himself  confronted  with  insuper 
able  difficulties  in  trying  to  identify  what  Velluti  was  supposed  to  be 
singing;  his  own  music,  in  fact,  had  grown  completely  unrecogniz 
able.  For  all  that,  however,  Velluti's  performance  was  a  thing  of 
unparalleled  beauty,  and  enjoyed  untold  popularity  with  the  audi 
ence,  which,  after  all,  can  never  be  blamed  for  applauding  something 
which  it  so  wholeheartedly  enjoys.2 

1  He  was  then  twenty-two  years  old. 

2  Nevertheless,  the  opera  as  a  whole  was  a  flop.  Velluti  had  quarrelled  with  the 
famous  conductor  of  la  Scala,  Alessandro  Rolla,  and  sulked  like  a  child  during 
the  entire  run  of  Aureliano;  childishness,  in  fact,  is  the  predominant  facet  of  his 
character,  and  a  footman  can  lead  Mm  around  like  a  bear  on  a  string. 

LR  M 


330  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

The  young  composer's  vanity  was  deeply  wounded;  his  opera  was 
a  flop,  and  all  the  applause  had  gone  to  Velluti,  his  soprano.  Rossini 
was  always  quick  to  size  up  a  situation,  and  instantly  drew  the 
inevitable  conclusions  from  an  experience  which  had  proved  so 
unspeakably  humiliating. 

In  this  instance,  he  argued  with  himself,  I  have  been  lucky  in  that 
Velluti  possesses  both  intelligence  and  good  taste;  but  what  guarantee 
have  I  that  next  time  I  accept  a  contract,  I  shall  not  be  confronted  with 
another  singer  of  this  type,  equally  fortunate  in  the  flexibility  of  his 
larynx,  similarly  obsessed  with  this  mania  for  embroidery,  but  in  all 
other  respects  mediocre,  who  will  promptly  ruin  my  music  for  good  and 
all,  not  only  by  making  it  unrecognizable  to  me,  but — infinitely  worse — 
by  sending  the  audience  to  sleep  with  his  twiddles  and  roulades,  or,  at 
best,  by  merely  tickling  their  curiosity  with  a  handful  of  meretricious 
conjuring-tricks?  Moreover,  the  danger  which  threatens  my  poor,  ill- 
treated  music  is  the  more  imminent,  in  that  there  are  no  longer  any 
competent  and  recognized  schools  of  singing  in  Italy.  Nowadays,  the 
average  theatre  is  coming  more  and  more  to  be  filled  with  people  whose 
entire  acquaintance  with  music  derives  from  some  ignorant  village 
band-master.  It  follows  that  this  repulsive  tradition  of  singing  a  melody 
as  though  it  were  a  violin-concerto,  of  decking  it  out  with  an  infinite 
series  0/variations,  is  bound  eventually,  not  only  to  undermine  the  gifts 
of  the  singer,  but  also  to  corrupt  the  taste  of  the  public.  Before  long, 
every  singer  in  Italy  will  be  doing  his  best  to  imitate  Velluti,  each  in  his 
own  peculiar  range  and  style.  A  normal,  straight  cantilena  will  soon 
become  a  thing  of  the  past;  the  public  will  grow  to  think  it  dull  and 
uninspired.  The  result  will  be  a  wholesale  overthrow  of  musical  tradi 
tions,  affecting  even  the  fundamental  characteristics  of  the  human 
voice;  for  once  the  habit  of  perpetual  embroidery  grows  firmly  estab 
lished  in  the  singe fs  repertoire,  and  once  people  get  into  the  habit  of 
sneering  coldly  at  any  cantilena,  unless  it  lie  crushed  and  back-broken 
beneath  its  load  of  unmanageable  and  elaborate  ornamentation,  the 
whole  technique  of  voice-control,  the  whole  art  of  producing  long, 
sustained  notes,  will  be  irretrievably  lost,  and  consequently  the  voice 
will  no  longer  be  able  to  master  anything  which  is  genuinely  spianato  e 
sostenuto.  Obviously,  there  is  not  a  moment  to  be  lost,  and  I  must 
fundamentally  reconsider  the  whole  conception  of  music  which  I  have 
held  up  to  this  point. 


REVOLUTION  331 

Now  I  know  how  to  sing;  everyone  is  agreed  that  I  possess  some 
talent  in  this  direction;  therefore  any  fioriture  which  I  devise  will  be  in 
good  taste;  furthermore  9 I,  as  the  composer,  am  in  a  good  position  to 
spot  straight  away  both  the  strong  and  the  weak  points  of  any  of  my 
singers,  and  so  I  shall  never  write  anything  for  them  which  lies  outside 
the  range  of  their  normal  abilities.  Very  well,  then:  in  future,  no  singer 
of  mine  shall  ever  have  the  slightest  pretext  for  improvising  a  single 
appoggiatura.1  Every  scrap  of  ornamentation,  every  vestige  of  a 
fioritura,  will  constitute  an  integral  part  of  the  song  itself y  and  the 
whole  lot,  without  exception,  will  be  noted  down  in  the  score. 

And  another  thing:  since  our  honest  impresari  seem  to  imagine  that 
I  am  richly  paid  for  the  contribution  of  some  sixteen  to  eighteen 
musical  numbers,  all  destined  for  the  leading  roles,  when  I  am  offered 
exactly  the  same  sort  of  sum  that  my  predecessors  used  to  earn  from  no 
more  than  five  or  six  similar  items,  I  think  I  have  devised  the  perfect 
and  foolproof  scheme  of  retaliation  against  this  distasteful,  if  amusing, 
misconception;  for,  in  every  opera  which  I  shall  write  from  now  on,  I 
intend  to  include  at  least  three  or  four  major  items  whose  sole  original 
ity  will  consist  in  the  variazioni,  which  I  shall  compose  myself,  instead 
of  leaving  them  to  be  invented  on  the  spur  of  the  moment  by  some  third- 
rate  performer;  in  consequence,  they  will  be  devised  methodically  and 
in  perfect  taste;  and  thus,  once  again,  our  scoundrelly  impresari  will  in 
the  end  pocket  all  the  profits  which  will  come  pouring  in  from  the 
application  of  my  new  system. 

The  reader  will  have  surmised  that,  as  an  historian,  I  have  been 
emulating  Livy.  I  have  credited  my  hero  with  a  fine-sounding  speech 
which  he  certainly  never  uttered  in  my  hearing;  nevertheless,  at  some 
stage  or  other  during  the  opening  years  of  his  career,  it  is  inconceiv 
able  that  Rossini  should  not  have  conducted  this  argument-in- 
monologue  with  himself;  his  scores  are  there  to  prove  it. 

Later  on,  in  Naples,  when  he  was  confronted  with  the  exhausted 
voice  of  Signorina  Colbran  (the  only  remaining  contribution  which 

1  I  know  no  language  more  admirable  than  French  for  pursuing  experiments 
in  the  analysis  of  emotional  nuances  and  of  intellectual  subtleties;  but,  by  virtue 
of  its  very  qualities  in  this  field,  it  is  unsuited  to  musical  description.  Since  I  have 
failed  to  discover  any  terms  in  French  which  can  be  used  to  translate  with 
precision  and  clarity  the  names  given  to  all  the  various  kinds  of  roulades  and 
embellishments,  I  beg  the  reader's  permission  to  keep  occasionally  to  the 
original  Italian.  The  claims  of  precision  and  clarity  make  such  a  sacrifice  truly 
essential. 


332  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

she  had  to  make  to  his  series  of  masterpieces),1  Rossini  found  himself 
compelled  to  turn  his  back  even  more  completely  upon  the  traditional 
spianato  style  of  singing,  and  to  plunge  ever  more  desperately  into  a 
welter  ofgorgheggi,  the  only  aspect  of  the  whole  craft  of  singing  from 
whose  mysteries  Signorina  Colbran  could  still  emerge  with  her 
honour  more  or  less  intact.  A  careful  study  of  the  scores  belonging  to 
Rossini's  Neapolitan  period  demonstrates  conclusively  the  lengths  to 
which  he  was  prepared  to  go  to  indulge  his  passion  for  his  intransi 
gent  prima  donna;  in  all  these  operas,  there  is  not  one  single  passage 
cantabile  spianato,  neither  for  her,  nor,  a  fortiori,  for  any  of  the  other 
characters,  who  were  subject  to  the  most  stringent  injunctions  never 
to  eclipse  her.  Rossini  seems  to  have  been  completely  indifferent  to 
his  own  reputation;  no  other  composer  can  ever  have  been  less  con 
cerned  with  such  preoccupations.  But  one  of  the  fatal  consequences 
of  his  obsequious  deference  towards  Signorina  Colbran  has  been 
that  every  one  of  his  nine  Neapolitan  operas  suffers  horribly  as  soon 
as  it  is  put  on  at  any  other  theatre. 

If  Signorina  Colbran  had  had  no  idiosyncrasy  peculiar  to  herself 
other  than  the  abnormal  range  of  her  voice,  other  operatic  companies 
with  differently-constituted  prime  dome  could  have  resorted  to  the 
simple  expedient  of  transposing  (puntare)  the  parts  into  a  new  key — 
an  elementary  procedure  which  would  have  been  quite  sufficient  to 
eliminate  the  small  number  of  extreme  notes  belonging  to  the  odd 
and  uncommon  compass  for  which  the  maestro  had  deliberately 
composed  his  music.  It  is  quite  normal  to  find  that  a  simple  trans 
position  will  enable  two  singers,  both  equally  good,  but  with  com 
pletely  dissimilar  voices,  to  appear  in  the  same  part  with  equal 
success2. 

But  unfortunately,  this  is  not  the  case  with  Rossini's  Neapolitan 
compositions.  The  problem  is  not  confined  to  the  range  of  the  voice, 
but  extends  to  the  quality  and  character  of  the  ornamentation ;  and  this 
represents  a  formidable,  and  in  nearly  every  case  insurmountable, 
obstacle.  I  appeal  to  any  amateur  who  may  have  tried  to  sing  from  a 
score  specially  written  for  Davide  or  for  Signorina  Colbran. 

1  The  works  which  Rossini  composed  while  he  was  in  Naples  include  nine  of 
his  major  operas:  Elisabetta,  Otelh,  Armida,  Mos&,  Ricciardo  eZoraide,  Ermione, 
la  Donna  delLago,  Maometto  secondo  andZe/m/ra  (1815-1822). 

2  The  aria:  di  tanti  Palpiti  ...  has  recently  been  performed,  here  in  Paris}  in 
three  different  keys. 


REVOLUTION  333 

We  may  sum  up,  therefore,  by  saying  that  it  was  Velluti,  in  the 
Milanese  production  of  Aureliano  in  Palmira,  who  first  sowed  in 
Rossini's  mind  the  seeds  of  that  revolution  which,  some  years  later, 
was  to  transform  Ms  whole  style  of  writing;  and  that  it  was  Signorina 
Colbran,  in  Naples,  who  forced  him  to  carry  this  same  revolution  to 
such  lengths  that,  in  my  own  conviction,  the  ensuing  exaggerations 
will  ultimately  prove  fatal  to  his  reputation.  The  whole  series  of 
operas  written  in  Naples  for  Signorina  Colbran  belong  to  this 
characteristic  "second  manner". 


CHAPTER  XXX 

Of  a  certain  Talent  which  mil  be 
out  of  date  by  1840 

I.HIS  present  chapter  is  inspired  wholly  by  a  feeling  of  deep- 
seated  compassion  towards  a  certain  number  of  young  ladies,  now 
aged  somewhere  between  twelve  and  fifteen,  whose  development  I 
have  been  observing  with  the  gravest  concern,  and  for  whom  that 
ungrateful  taskmaster,  the  pianoforte,  seems  to  hold  out  the  solace  of 
ideal  beauty  and  to  promise  eventual  admission  into  the  sweet  para 
dise  of  music.  Here  and  there  you  may  meet  one  or  two  of  these  gentle 
creatures  whom  nature  has  blessed  with  the  possession  of  a  reason 
able  voice,  and  who,  in  consequence,  have  been  advised  to  learn  sing 
ing  instead — but  in  vain!  The  advice  was  scorned.  The  result  is,  that 
in  twelve  or  fifteen  years'  time,  a  whole  generation  is  doomed  to 
discover  that  it  has  spent  the  best  years  of  its  life  painfully  acquiring 
a  talent  which  will  prove  in  the  end  both  useless  and  antiquated; 
much  as  their  grandmothers,  who  twenty  years  ago  had  learned  very 
properly  to  play  pretty  little  tunes  on  the  spinet,  would  find  this  same 
aptitude  quite  valueless  in  our  own  time.  Wrapt  in  beatific  con 
templation  of  their  own  virtuoso  prowess  at  the  keyboard  now,  the 
engaging  young  ladies  to  whom  I  have  referred  may  undoubtedly  feel 
happily  flattered  and  self-complacent;  but,  if  this  emotion  constitutes 
a  certain  kind  of  pleasure,  it  is  none  the  less  a  pleasure  which  is  half  a 
world  removed  from  the  true  delights  and  the  sweet  reveries  which 
music  should  inspire  in  the  human  breast.  A  child  may  learn  to  play 
exquisitely  upon  the  piano;  it  may  be  able  to  read  music  as  fluently  as 
it  can  read  a  normal  page  of  prose;  yet  if,  in  the  end,  it  has  learnt 
nothing  else,  its  mind  will  be  for  ever  closed  to  the  shades  and 
nuances  of  the  human  voice,  and  so  the  only  truly  moving  part  of 
music  is  fated  to  remain  shrouded  in  eternal  mystery.  And  to  judge 
by  the  speed  with  which  the  revolution,  in  the  midst  of  which  we  are 
living,  is  accomplishing  its  destiny,  in  fifteen  years  time  this  "eternal 
mystery",  this  land  which,  in  our  generation,  is  a  terra  incognita,  will 


OF  A  CERTAIN  TALENT  335 

be  the  only  one  which  it  is  fashionable  to  know.  There  are  already 
serious  protests  against  the  wearisome  prolixity  of  adequate  pianists. 
The  young  ladies  in  question,  who  have  already  ventured  a  little 
way  into  the  mysteries  of  music,  will  readily  understand  that  the 
subtler  nuances  of  emotion,  to  which  I  have  just  referred,  can  be 
expressed  by  the  human  voice  alone,  which  treats  them  (in  part  at 
least)  as  a  matter  of  spontaneous  improvisation  in  immediate  res 
ponse  to  a  direct  relationship  with  the  audience?  and  further,  that  it  is 
these  same  nuances,  these  delicately-shaded  variations  of  the  spirit, 
and  nothing  else,  which  constitute  the  essential  miracle  of  music — a 
miracle  which,  in  the  inaccurate  haste  of  everyday  conversation,  may 
afterwards  be  attributed  to  certain  instruments,  but  which,  in  actual 
fact,  these  instruments  are  incapable  of  producing.  Have  you  ever 
heard  an  audience  shout  for  an  encore  of  a  piano  sonata?  Instru 
mental  music  rarely  stirs  so  much  as  a  tremor  in  the  deeper  recesses  of 
the  human  soul,  and  seldom  moves  to  tears;  the  pleasure  which  it 
gives  belongs  rather  to  that  category  of  cold  and  unexhilaratlng 
abashment  at  the  sight  of  the  triumph  of  virtuosity  over  the  recalci 
trance  of  technique;  consequently,  no  man  bom  is  too  insensitive  to 
appreciate  a  concerto.  An  ice-cold  heart,  backed  by  a  neat,  method 
ical  brain,  and  reinforced  by  an  overdose  of  solid  Teutonic  persever 
ance,  can  master  the  piano  a  hundred  times  more  successfully  than 
could  a  mere  dilettante  like  Pergolese,  for  all  Ms  divine  inspiration. 
I  am  not  ashamed  to  propound  a  paradox:  the  man  who  can  give  an 
adequate  performance  of  BlondePs  Romance  from  Richard  Coeur- 
de-Liony  is  a  finer  musician,  in"  the  true  sense  of  the  word,  than  the 
man  who  can  sight-read  a  Grand  Fantasia  by  Hertz  or  Moscheles. 
Anyone  who  is  able  to  achieve  a  perfect  rendering  of  this  simple  little 
Romance  is  musically  equipped  to  understand  Rossini's  entire  oper 
atic  output,  and  to  appreciate  the  subtlest  vocal  innuendoes  of  a 
Madame  Fodor  or  a  Madame  Pasta.  Whereas  a  pianist,  even  one 
who  has  mastered  his  technique  to  the  highest  degree  imaginable,  will 
have  learned  to  appreciate  nothing  except  Rossini's  orchestration., 
and  perhaps  an  odd  violin-concerto. 

1  Marchesi  used  to  change  the  whole  pattern  offioriture  In  any  given  part  at 
every  single  performance. 


R, 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

Is  Rossini  more  inclined  to  repeat  himself  than 
other  Composers? 


.OSSINI'S  "variation-technique"  (yariaziom)  has  often  tempted 
him  to  plagiarize  his  own  compositions;  and,  like  all  robbers,  he  has 
always  hoped  that  no  one  would  notice  his  stolen  booty. 

After  all,  why  should  a  poor  maestro,  who  is  under  contract  to 
dash  off  an  opera  in  six  weeks  regardless  of  his  health  or  state  of 
mind,  be  blamed  for  falling  back  upon  an  expedient  of  this  nature  in 
those  inevitable  moments  when  his  inspiration  runs  dry?  Mayer,  for 
instance,  or  many  another  composer  whom  I  will  refrain  from 
mentioning  by  name,  escapes  the  dilemma  of  self-plagiarism — but  at 
what  a  cost!  Mayer,  instead  of  repeating  himself,  engulfs  us  in  a 
blanketing  fog  of  apathy >  close  upon  the  heels  of  which  comes  sleep, 
bringing  grateful  forgetfulness  of  all  our  woes.  Rossini,  on  the  other 
hand,  allows  us  neither  truce  nor  respite;  his  operas  may  provoke 
indignation,  irritation,  what  you  will  ...  but  never  somnolence.  The 
effect  produced  may  be  one  of  startling  originality,  or  it  may  simply 
conjure  up  charming  memories;  but  in  every  instance  there  is  always 
a  new  delight  ready  to  follow  hot-foot  upon  the  traces  of  the  last; 
never  that  barren  desert  of  burning  emptiness  which  one  finds,  for 
example,  in  the  first  act  of  la  Rosa  bianca. 

No  one  will  dispute  the  fact  of  Rossini's  extraordinary  fertility  of 
creative  imagination;  and  yet  there  are  four  or  five  obscure  news 
papers*  which  emerge  anew  every  morning  to  reiterate  (the  half- 
baked  speaking  to  the  half-educated)  that  Rossini  is  "repeating  him 
self",  "plagiarising  himself",  "lacking  in  inventiveness",  etc.,  etc.;  in 
respect  of  which  assertions,  I  beg  the  liberty  of  requesting  an  answer 
to  the  following  questions: 

1.  When  the  great  masters  of  the  past  composed  operas,  how 
many  major  musical  items  did  they  include  in  each? 

2.  What  proportion  of  the  major  musical  numbers  which  they  did 
include  managed  to  catch  the  ear  of  the  public? 


OF  REPETITION  337 

3.  What  proportion  of  these  numbers  deserved  ultimate  popu 
larity? 

Paesiello  wrote  something  like  a  hundred~and-fifty  operas,  out  of 
which,  in  all,  about  eighty  full-scale  musical  numbers  achieved  fame. 
Rossini  has  written  thirty-four  operas,  and  can  easily  claim  a  hundred 
popular  successes,  each  one  of  which  is  fundamentally  original.  A 
fool,  catching  his  first  glimpse  of  a  crowd  of  negro  slaves,  may  be  silly 
enough  to  believe  that  they  all  look  exactly  alike;  Rossini's  arias  are 
similar  negroes  in  the  eyes  of  similar  fools. 

The  greatest  error  of  the  Louvofs  public,  the  last  bandage  which 
needs  to  be  torn  away  from  in  front  of  its  eyes  before  it  can  aspire  to 
a  taste  in  music  as  sure  and  as  infallible  as  that  of  the  habitues  of 
la  Scala  or  the  San-Carlo,  is  the  fundamental  illusion  that  every  note 
is  meant  to  be  listened  to;  as  an  audience,  it  insists,  as  it  were,  upon 
having  its  money's-worth;  not  a  crumb  is  destined  to  escape  its 
insatiable  voracity;  if  it  reacted  to  tragedy  in  the  same  way  as  it 
reacts  to  opera,  every  line  and  every  word  would  need  to  be  as 
dynamic  and  as  forceful  as  the  famous  quJHmourut!  in  Horace,  or  as 
the  dramatic  Moil  from  Medee. 

But  such  an  attitude  is  frankly  incompatible  with  the  natural  laws 
which  determine  the  mechanism  of  the  human  emotions.  No  man  of 
genuine  aesthetic  sensibility  could  take  pleasure  in  a  succession  of 
three  major  dramatic  climaxes  in  the  space  of  a  few  lines. 

Nevertheless,  as  critics,  we  owe  our  readers  a  fair  assessment  of  the 
situation;  and  in  the  case  of  the  Louvois  audiences,  the  most  serious 
hindrances  which  impede  the  growth  of  a  competent  standard  of 
taste  spring: 

i   from  the  cramped  insufficiency  of  the  auditorium ; 
ii   from  the  imperfect  screening-off  of  daylight  in  the  hall;  and 
iii   from  the  failure  to  provide  any  private  boxes. 

In  any  small  theatre,  mass-enthusiasm  soon  degenerates  into  mass- 
hysteria  and  nervous  exhaustion.1 

I  regret  to  have  to  insist  upon  this,  because  it  is  something  which 

shocks  our  notion  of  public  behaviour:  but  the  fact  remains  that  the 

human  soul  requires  four  or  five  minutes  of  whispered  conversation 

to  release  itself  from  the  tension  which  may  be  built  up  by  some 

i  pphy  ?  i  submit  the  problem  to  the  learned  Dr  Edwards. 


338  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

sublime  duet;  only  then  will  it  be  in  any  fit  state  to  appreciate  the 
aria  which  follows  next  on  the  programme. 

In  art,  as  in  politics,  no  natural  law  suffers  itself  to  be  broken  with 
impunity.  I  would  give  vanity  another  ten  years,  and  no  more,  to 
hold  out  in  support  of  the  absurd  conventions  which  I  have  just  been 
attacking,  and  to  continue  to  make  people  believe  that  to  whisper 
during  the  performance  of  an  opera  is  automatically  to  brand  one 
self  a  philistine.  What  is  the  outcome  of  all  this  well-bred  silence  and 
uninterrupted  attentiveness?  Simply,  that  fewer  people  enjoy  the  per 
formance  than  would  otherwise  be  the  case.  It  is  precisely  those 
spectators  who  are  deterred  from  coming  by  their  fear  of  this  kind  of 
physical  discomfort  who  are  at  bottom  the  ones  whose  nervous 
systems  are  sufficiently  delicate  in  their  adjustment  to  enable  them  to 
appreciate  the  voluptuous  appeal  of  a  fine  aria  and  all  the  lingering 
fragrance  of  music.  As  things  are,  any  opera  given  at  the  Louvois 
which  consists  exclusively  of  six  major  musical  items,  each  exquisite 
in  its  own  separate  fashion,  is  certain  of  success;  whereas  if  these 
same  six  brilliant  passages  were  to  be  embedded,  as  it  were,  in  a  set 
ting  consisting  of  seven  or  eight  less  intensely  moving  passages,  the 
opera  would  be  doomed  to  failure — and  yet,  were  it  not  for  the 
pedants,  we  should  realize  quite  clearly  that  the  inferior  music  has  its 
own  task  to  perform  (the  indispensable  task  of  allowing  us  respite 
between  climaxes),  thus,  ultimately,  increasing  our  pleasure  in  the 
opera  as  a  whole. 

The  first  time  one  looks  at  Rossini's  scores,  one's  immediate 
impression  is  that  the  technical  difficulties  confronting  the  singer  are 
so  immense  that  none  of  these  operas  is  ever  likely  to  find  more  than 
a  lonely  handful  of  artists  capable  of  interpreting  it;  but  further  study 
soon  convinces  one  that  this  music  combines  so  many  different 
features,  all  calculated  to  answer  the  divers  needs  and  requirements 
of  an  audience,1  that  even  if  a  good  half  of  Rossini*  sfioriture  were  to 
be  omitted  in  performance  (or  alternatively,  even  if  all  thtfioriture 
are  used,  but  in  a  different  order  of  distribution  throughout  the 
score),  the  opera  will  still  manage  to  be  successful.  Rossini's  operas, 
in  fact,  do  not  require  great  interpreters.  The  only  indispensable 
virtue  needed  in  the  artist  is  technical  agility •;  and  provided  a  singer, 

1  All  calculated  to  satisfy  the  demands  of  our  generation;  no  music  is  more 
eminently  Romantic. 


OF  REPETITION  339 

no  matter  how  mediocre  he  may  be  In  all  other  respects,  possesses  this 
one  quality,  he  can  always  be  certain  of  enjoying  a  reasonable  amount 
of  success — at  least  in  so  far  as  Rossini  is  concerned!  Rossini's 
melodies,  whose  fascination  is  never  broken  by  any  of  those  touches 
of  violence  or  harshness  which  spring  from  the  common  obsession 
with  powerful  effects;  his  accompaniments,  with  their  vivacity  and 
their  seductive  rhythms — these  things  alone  are  sufficient  to  conjure 
up  vistas  of  pleasure  so  enthralling  that,  whatever  modifications  and 
excisions  the  singer,  circumscribed  by  the  limitations  of  his  own  vocal 
technique,  be  obliged  to  make  among  the  ornamental  superstructure 
of  Rossini's  music,  the  result,  in  spite  of  these  forced  mutilations,  is 
invariably  both  tantalizing  and  a  delight  to  listen  to.  Things  were  very 
different  in  the  golden  age  of  improvisation,  in  the  days  of  Aprile, 
la  Gabrielli,1  etc.,  when  the  composer  used  deliberately  to  permit  Ms 
interpreter  as  much  freedom  as  he  could  possibly  manage  in  his 
arias,  thus  allowing  the  singer  innumerable  opportunities  to  display 
his  or  her  individual  talents.  In  such  circumstances,  if  the  performer 
was  merely  mediocre,  or  if  Ms  or  her  only  talent  was  limited  to  the 
mastery  of  a  certain  petty,  mechanical  vocal  agility  (a  quality  which, 
alone,  is  very  far  from  guaranteeing  ultimate  perfection  in  the  art  of 
singing),  song  and  singer  alike  were  doomed  to  experience  the  most 
resounding  fiasco. 

If,  in  1814,  Rossini  had  found  Mmself  in  a  position  to  pick  and 
choose  from  among  a  wide  selection  of  competent  singers,  one  may 
well  wonder  whether  he  would  ever  have  dreamed  of  toucMng  off  the 
spark  of  that  revolution  wMch,  in  the  event,  he  did  kindle;  whether 
he  would  ever  have  contemplated  introducing  a  system  which  im 
plied  that  every  note  of  every  aria  should  be  written  out  in  full 

Certainly  his  vanity  might  well  have  wished  it;  but  then  the  vanity 
of  the  singers  would  have  roused  up  the  most  lively  opposition,  just 
as,  in  our  own  time,  we  find  Velluti  persistently  refusing  to  sing 
Rossini's  music. 

One  might  well  enquire  further,  and  ask,  wMcfa  of  the  two  systems 
is  in  fact  preferable?  My  own  reply  would  be:  the  old  system,  with 
some  concessions  to  the  new.  It  seems  to  me  quite  wrong  for  the 

1  Catterina  Gabrielli,  a  noted  prima  donna,  was  said  to  sing  well  only  when  her 

current  lover  was  present  in  the  theatre.  There  are  a  hundred  different  legends 
abroad  in  Italy  concerning  her  fantastic  whims  and  caprices.  She  was  of  Roman 
origin. 


340  LIFE   OF  ROSSINI 

composer  to  write  in  all  the  ornaments;  but  at  the  same  time  it  seems 
right  that  the  total  liberty  of  the  singer  to  mutilate  his  text  should 
suffer  some  restraint.  There  is  no  justification  for  Velluti's  having 
sung  the  cavatina  from  Aureliano  in  Palmira  in  such  a  fashion  as  to 
render  it  all  but  unrecognizable  to  the  composer,  because,  in  that 
case,  Velluti  himself  becomes  the  author  of  the  works  which  he  is 
supposed  to  be  interpreting;  and  there  is  every  advantage  to  be 
gained  from  maintaining  a  strict  barrier  of  separation  between  two 
arts  which  are  so  completely  different  in  character. 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

Some  Details  concerning  the  Revolution  inaugurated 

by  Rossini 


TH 


,  HE  art  of  bet  canto*  was  created  in  the  year  1680  by  PistoccH; 
and  its  progress  was  hastened  immeasurably  by  Pistocchi's  pupil, 
Bernacchi  (c.  1720).  The  peak  of  perfection  was  attained  in  1778, 
under  the  aegis  of  Pacchiarotti;  but  since  that  date,  the  race  of  male 
sopranos  has  died  out,  and  the  art  has  degenerated. 

Millico,  Aprile,  Farinelii,  PaccMarotti,  Ansani,  Babini  and 
Marchesi  all  owed  their  reputation  to  this  style  favoured  by  the  older 
composers,  who,  in  certain  passages  of  their  operas,  provided  the 
interpreter  with  scarcely  more  than  a  framework  or  canvas,1  upon 
which  to  work  out  his  own  conceptions;  and  there  is  scarcely  a  single 
one  of  these  great  singers  who  did  not,  in  addition,  enrich  the  lives  of 
his  contemporaries  by  fostering  the  talents  of  two  or  three  first-class 
prime  dome.  The  biographies  of  such  fine  cantatrici  as  la  GabrielH, 
la  de'  Amicis,  la  Banti,  la  Todi  and  others,  all  reveal  the  names  of  the 
famous  soprani  from  whom  they  had  learnt  the  supreme  art  of 
managing  a  voice. 

More  than  one  of  the  leading  prime  donne  of  our  own  generation 
owes  her  talents  to  Velluti — Signorina  Colbran,  for  instance. 

The  supreme  qualities  of  the  soprani  and  of  their  pupils  were  seen 
at  their  most  resplendent  in  the  execution  of  largo  and  cantabik 
spianato  passages;  and  we  have  a  beautiful  example  of  this  style  of 
writing  in  the  prayer-scene  from  Romeo  e  Giulietta,  Yet  this  precisely 
was  the  type  of  aria  which  Rossini,  ever  since  the  moment  when  he 
arrived  in  Naples  and  adopted  what  is  now  known  in  Italy  as  Ms 

1  The  great  singers  of  tMs  school  never  actually  altered  the  theme  of  an  aria; 
they  gave  It  first  in  a  comparatively  simple  rendering,  and  then  proceeded  to 
embroidery.  At  the  end  of  each  aria,  they  were  normally  given  some  twenty  bars 
to  be  filled  mad  lib.  vnthgorgheggi  and  other  light  embellishments  of  this  nature; 
and  finally,  the  song  concluded  with  a  bravura  passage;  v.  for  instance,  pria  che 
spunti  ...,  from  il  Matrmomo  segreto.  TMs  particular  aria  belongs  to  a  category 
known  in  Naples  as  arie  (K  narraziane. 


342  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

"second  manner",  has  been  at  greatest  pains  to  eliminate  from  his 
operas.  In  former  days,  a  singer  might  train  for  six  or  eight  years 
before  being  able  to  achieve  a  true  largo,  and  the  patient  perseverance 
of  Bernacchi,  for  instance,  is  proverbial  in  the  history  of  the  art.  But 
once  this  degree  of  perfection,  purity  and  sweetness,  which  the 
generation  of  1750  considered  to  be  the  sine  qua  non  of  good  singing, 
had  finally  been  attained,  the  singer  had  nothing  further  to  do  but  to 
reap  his  reward;  his  reputation  and  his  fortune  lay  ready  to  hand. 
However,  since  Rossini  has  appeared  on  the  scene,  success  or  failure 
in  the  execution  of  a  largo  passage  has  become  a  matter  of  sublime 
indifference,  and  if  ever  such  a  passage  were  to  be  offered  to  any  of 
our  own  audiences  to-day,  I  can  hear,  even  from  where  I  now  sit,  the 
echoes  of  that  little  proverb  about  the  devil  and  his  own  funeral.  ... 
That  poor  audience  would  be  bored  to  death;  and  the  reason  is 
simple — because  it  would  find  itself  being  addressed  in  a  foreign  lan 
guage  which  it  thinks  it  knows,  but  which  in  fact  it  needs  to  sit  down 
and  re-learn  from  the  beginning. 

The  older  style  of  singing  could  stir  a  man  to  the  innermost 
recesses  of  his  soul;  but  it  could  also  prove  rather  boring;  Rossini's 
style  titillates  the  mind,  and  is  never  boring.  It  is  a  hundred  times 
easier  to  acquire  a  fair  enough  proficiency  to  give  a  competent 
rendering  of  one  of  Rossini's  great  rondo  movements  (the  rondo  from 
la  Donna  delLago,  for  instance),  than  it  is  to  achieve  a  similar  stan 
dard  in  some  great  aria  by  Sacchini. 

The  subtleties  involved  in  sustaining  a  long  holding-note;  the  art 
of  portamento;  the  technique  of  modulating  the  voice  so  as  to  make  it 
fall  with  equal  stress  upon  every  note  in  a  legato  passage;  the  skilled 
control  which  enabled  a  singer  to  draw  breath  quite  imperceptibly, 
without  interrupting  the  long-drawn  phrases  of  vocal  melody  so 
typical  of  the  arias  of  the  old  school1 — these  and  similar  qualities 
represented  formerly  the  most  difficult  and  the  most  essential  attain 
ments  of  a  good  performer.  The  mere  agility,  remarkable  or  other 
wise,  of  the  voice,  served  only  one  purpose:  it  was  employed  in  the 

1  I  find  it  to  all  intents  and  purposes  quite  impossible  to  write  adequately  of  the 
art  of  singing  in  any  language  other  than  Italian:  here  is  the  passage  which  I  have 
just  written  as  it  would  have  appeared  in  the  original:  Le  ombreggiature  per  le 
messe  di  voce,  il  cantor  di  portamento,  Varte  di  fermare  la  voce  per  farla  fluire 
eguale  nel^  canto  legato,  Porte  di  prender  fiato  in  modo  insensible  e  senza  troncare  il 
lungo  periodo  vocale  delle  arie  antiche. 


DETAILS  OF  THE  REVOLUTION  343 

execution  of  gorgheggi,  i.e.,  it  represented  a  luxury,  it  was  used  for 
display,  or,  in  a  word,  for  supplying  an  element  of  superficial  glitter, 
and  never  for  providing  those  essential  qualities  which  were  to  shake 
and  stir  the  soul  Every  aria  was  provided,  towards  the  conclusion, 
with  a  cadenza,  usually  of  some  twenty  bars,  whose  whole  raison 
d'etre  was  to  allow  the  singer  to  perform  tricks  with  the  muscles  of 
his  throat,1  and  to  indulge  in  gorgheggL 

Rossini  has  been  responsible  for  a  musical  revolution;  but  even  his 
sincerest  friends  blame  that  revolution  for  having  restricted  the 
boundaries  of  the  art  of  singing,  for  having  limited  the  qualities  of 
emotional  pathos  inherent  in  that  art,  and  for  having  rendered  use 
less,  and  therefore  obsolete,  certain  technical  exercises,  valueless  in 
themselves,  but  which  could  ultimately  lead  to  those  transports  of 
delirium  and  rapture  which  occur  so  frequently  in  the  history  of 
Pacchiarotti  and  other  great  artists  of  an  earlier  generation,  and  so 
very  rarely  to-day.  The  source  of  these  miracles  lay  in  the  mystic 
powers  of  the  human  voice. 

The  revolution  inaugurated  by  Rossini  has  killed  the  gift  of 
originality  in  the  singer.  What  incentive  can  any  singer  have  nowa 
days  for  taking  infinite  pains  to  convey  to  Ms  audience,  firstly,  the 
native  and  individual  quality  of  his  voice,  and  secondly,  the  precise 
shade  of  expression  by  which  it  may  be  endowed  through  Ms  peculiar 
and  original  sensibility?  In  Rossini's  operas  he  is  doomed  to  wait  for 
ever  in  vain  for  one  single  opportunity  to  display  these  rare  qualities, 
whose  acquisition  may  have  cost  Mm  literally  years  of  unrelenting 
labour.  But  in  any  case,  the  mere  habit  of  expecting  to  find  every 
thing  already  worked  out,  already  noted  down  in  black  and  wMte  in 
the  music  from  wMch  he  has  to  sing,  is  enough  to  Mil  his  own 
inventiveness,  to  quench  the  last  spark  of  initiative  witMn  him,  and  to 
induce  a  fundamental  attitude  of  laziness.  The  average  modern  com 
poser  makes  no  greater  demands  in  Ms  score  than  can  be  fulfilled  by 
the  exercise  of  a  moderate  degree  of  technical  competence  in  a 
specifically  material  field:  the  field,  in  fact,  of  the  instrumentalist. 
Rossini's  attitude  oflasciatemifare  (leave  everytMng  to  me),  which  is 
typical  of  Ms  relations  with  his  interpreters,  has  now  reached  such  a 
pitch,  that  the  latter  may  not  even  dispose  of  the  right  to  improvise 

1  The  word  gorgheggi  is  associated  with  the  verb  gorgheggiare,  to  make  warbl 
ing  noises  in  the  throat.  Cf.  French:  gorge  =  throat;  English:  gargle,  (Trans.) 


344  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

on  the  last  note  of  all;  in  almost  every  instance,  Rossini  will  be  found 
to  have  supplied  Ms  own  embroidery. 

In  days  gone  by,  the  great  singers,  Babini,  Marchesi,  Pacchiarotti, 
etc.,  used  to  compose  their  own  ornamentation  whenever  the  musical 
context  required  an  exceptionally  high  level  of  complexity;  but  in 
normal  circumstances,  they  were  concerned  with  extempore  invention. 
All  the  various  categories  of  simpler  embellishments  (appoggiature, 
gruppetti,  mordenti,  and  so  on)  were  theirs  to  dispose  and  arrange  as 
they  thought  best,  spontaneously,  and  following  the  dictates  of  their 
art  and  their  inner  genius;  the  whole  art  of  adorning  the  melody 
(i  vezzi  melodici  del  canto,  as  Pacchiarotti  used  to  call  it,  when  I  met 
Mm  in  Padua  in  1816)  belonged  by  right  to  the  performer.  For 
instance,  in  the  aria: 

Ombra  adorata,  aspetta  .-,1 

Crescentini  would  suffuse  Ms  whole  voice  and  inflexion  with  a  broad 
and  indefinable  colouring  of  satisfaction,  because  it  would  strike  Mm, 
while  he  was  actually  standing  up  and  singing,  that  an  impassioned 
lover  about  to  be  reunited  with  Ms  mistress  probably  would  feel 
something  of  the  sort.  But  Velluti,  who  perceives  the  situation  rather 
differently,  interprets  the  same  passage  in  a  vein  of  melancholy, 
interspersed  with  brooding  reflections  upon  the  common  fate  of  the 
two  lovers.  There  is  no  composer  on  earth,  suppose  Mm  to  be  as 
ingenious  as  you  will,  whose  score  can  convey  with  precision,  these 
and  similar  infinitely  minute  nuances  of  emotional  suggestion :  yet  it  is 
precisely  these  and  similar  infinitely  minute  nuances  wMch  form  the 
secret  of  Crescentim's  unique  perfection  in  Ms  interpretation  of  the 
aria;  furthermore,  all  tMs  infinitely  minute  material  is  itself  in  a  per 
petual  state  of  transformation,  constantly  responding  to  variations 
in  the  physical  condition  of  the  singer's  voice,  or  to  changes  in  the 
intensity  of  the  exaltation  and  ecstasy  by  wMch  he  may  happen  to  be 
inspired.  At  one  performance,  he  may  tend  towards  ornaments 
redolent  of  indolence  and  morbidezza;  on  a  different  occasion,  from 
the  very  moment  when  he  sets  foot  on  the  stage,  he  may  find  himself 
in  a  mood  for  gorgheggi  instinct  with  energy  and  life.  Unless  he  yield 
to  the  inspiration  of  the  moment,  he  can  never  attain  to  perfection  in 
Ms  singing.  A  great  singer  is  essentially  a  creature  of  nerves;  a  great 
1  Adorfcd  shade,  wait ...! 


DETAILS  OF  THE  REVOLUTION  345 

violinist,  on  the  other  hand,  needs  a  temperament  of  a  radically 
different  quality.1 

But  in  any  case,  it  is  fundamentally  wrong  for  the  composer  to 
elaborate  all  the  ornamentation,  for  the  simple  reason  that  he  would 
have  to  possess  a  perfect  and  intimate  knowledge  of  the  voice  for 
which  his  music  is  destined,  whereas  this  knowledge  is  something 
which  can  be  known  only  to  the  singer  who  possesses  it,  and  who  has 
spent  perhaps  twenty  years  studying  it  and  training  it  to  the  required 
flexibility.2  A  single  ornament,  I  will  not  say  badly*  but  even  un 
enthusiastically  performed,  rendered  dutifully  but  without  brio,  can 
destroy  in  an  instant  every  shred  of  enchantment  which  had  ever 
existed.  You  had  been  in  heaven;  but  now  you  come  tumbling  down 
into  the  prosaic  world  of  a  box-at-the-opera;  and  you  can  count 
yourself  lucky  if  you  have  not  landed  bang  in  the  middle  of  a 
singing-lesson! 

1  The  greatest  violinist  in  Italy,  and  perhaps  in  all  the  world,  is  Pagamru,  who 
is  still  a  youngish  man,  thirty-five  years  old,  with  black,  piercing  eyes  and  dishev 
elled  hair.  This  ardent  creature  did  not  stumble  upon  the  secrets  of  his  divine 
art  by  dint  of  eight  years'  dogged  perseverance  through  the  Conservatoire',  a  hasty 
impulse  inspired  by  loving  too  well  (so  the  legend  goes*)  resulted  in  long  years  of 
imprisonment;  and  there,  solitary  and  abandoned  in  a  dungeon  which  might  well 
have  had  no  issue  save  to  the  scaffold,  he  discovered  that  the  only  companion  who 
could  console  him  in  his  fetters  was  his  violin.  Gradually  he  acquired  the  art  of 
expressing  the  very  whispers  of  his  soul  in  sound;  and  the  endless,  dragging 
evenings  of  captivity  gave  him  ample  time  to  perfect  this  new  language.  Paganlni 
should  not  be  heard  when  he  is  striving  to  emulate  the  violinists  of  the  North  in 
some  mighty  concerto;  but  rather  on  some  informal  evening  when  he  is  in  the 
mood  and  playing  capriccfos.  Let  me  hasten  to  add  that  these  capriccios  present 
just  as  many  difficulties  in  execution  as  any  concerto ! 

2  Velluti  always  prepares  three  different  sets  of  ornamentation  for  any  given 
passage;  so  that,  when  the  instant  of  performance  arrives,  he  can  choose  the  one 
which  best  suits  his  mood.  This  precaution  ensures  that  his  embellishments  never 
sound  forced  (stentati}. 


N, 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

Excuses 


I  o THING  is  quite  so  futile  as  music;  and  so  I  can  well  understand 
that  the  reader  may  be  scandalized  at  the  ponderous  gravity  of  the 
tone  which  I  have  adopted  to  scatter  a  few  handfuls  of  inconse 
quential  observations  through  these  pages,  or  to  retail  a  couple  of 
singularly  pointless  anecdotes,  grossly  overweighted,  moreover,  with 
the  monumental  grandiloquence  of  terms  such  as  ideal  Beauty, 
felicity,  sublime,  sensibility  and  so  on,  to  the  use  of  which  I  am  only 
too  prone. 

And  yet,  all  in  all,  this  refusal  to  take  music  seriously  is  a  pheno 
menon  of  which  I  entirely  approve ;  I  am  sick  to  death  of  things  which 
must  be  taken  seriously,  and  I  regret  the  good  old  days  when  full 
colonels  on  the  active  list  used  to  spend  their  time  embroidering 
tapestries,  and  when  fine  literary  salons  used  to  break  up  into  games 
of  cup-and-ball.  I  know  my  own  century  only  too  well:  it  is  a  century 
of  lies  and  liars.1  And  so,  as  a  result  of  this  conviction,  if  there  has 
been  one  principle  to  which  I  have  constantly  adhered,  it  has  been 
never  to  exaggerate  what  I  have  to  say  by  beautiful  writing,  never 
(above  all)  to  chase  after  some  particular  effect  with  the  help  of  a 
series  of  arguments  and  metaphors  whose  "glowing  sincerity"  is 
nothing  but  artifice,  and  whose  ultimate  achievement  is  to  stun  the 
reader  into  a  kind  of  ecstatic  wonderment,  so  that,  at  the  end  of  each 
rolling  period,  he  puts  the  book  down  and  exclaims:  Now,  thafs 
what  I  call  literature!  To  begin  with,  I  entered  late  in  life  into  the 
arena  of  belles-lettres,  and  heaven  has  studiously  denied  me  any 
talent  for  veiling  the  nakedness  of  ideas  beneath  the  graceful  drap 
eries  of  exaggeration;  secondly,  it  is  my  personal  opinion  that  there 
is  no  sin  so  unforgivable  as  exaggeration  in  matters  affecting  the 
deeper  emotions  of  mankind.  Today's  short-lived  advantage  of  an 

1  I  met  recently  with  a  young  man  of  two-and-twenty,  the  author  of  a  tragedy 
which  had  just  been  accepted  by  the  Theatre  Francois;  and  yet,  while  he  talked  to 
me,  his  greatest  concern  was  to  poke  fun  at  the  whole  conception  of  tragedy 
within  whose  framework  he  had  been  working. 


EXCUSES  347 

instant's  amazement  Is  soon  to  be  annihilated  by  an  over-mastering 
sense  of  repugnance;  and  to-morrow  brings  a  strange  and  inexplic 
able  reluctance  to  pick  up  the  book  which  had  be^n  set  down  the 
night  before;  it  is  almost  as  though  one  were  to  reflect:  I  don't  think 
I  feel  in  sufficiently  high  spirits1  this  morning  to  appreciate  the  humour 
of  having  my  leg  ingeniously  pulled.  Art,  I  would  most  firmly  contend, 
was  not  invented  to  give  pleasure  at  moments  when  the  soul  is  already 
on  fire  with  excitement  and  happiness;  on  such  occasions,  art  is 
entirely  superfluous,  and  no  one  but  a  fool  opens  a  book  when  he  is 
feeling  cheerful.  The  purposes  of  art  are  higher,  less  ephemeral,  and 
far  better  adapted  to  meet  the  more  commonplace  hazards  and 
happenings  of  life.  Art  was  created  for  a  consolation  to  man.  When 
the  soul  is  filled  with  regret,  when  life  is  moving  relentlessly  towards 
the  first  still,  sad  days  of  autumn,  when  mistrust  stalks  shrouded  like 
a  ghost  behind  every  dripping  hedgerow — these  are  the  days  when  it 
is  good  indeed  to  be  able  to  turn  to  music. 

And,  when  the  soul  of  man  is  in  such  a  mood,  nothing  is  more 
repellent  than  exaggeration.  In  every  instance  when  I  have  chanced 
upon  some  brilliant  notion,  which  seems  to  lend  itself  to  a  whole 
sequence  of  flowing  and  well-rounded  phrases,  I  have  deliberately 
understated  what  I  felt  to  be  the  truth,  in  order  that  the  temptation  of 
some  fleeting,  glittering  little  epigram  should  not  pave  the  way  to 
suspicion  and  disgust  a  page  or  two  later.  A  lady  of  taste  and  delicate 
understanding,  who  had  recently  lost  a  close  friend,  once  found  the 
courage  to  declare,  with  that  spirit  of  unconventionally  which  is  the 
charm  of  intimate  social  intercourse:  When  I  used  to  feel  dispirited, 
the  conversation  of  M.  ***  would  give  me  the  same  sense  of  comfort 
as  one  finds  sometimes  in  a  good,  soft,  well-sprung  divan,  when  one  is 
utterly  exhausted  and  desperate  to  lie  down  and  rest.  This  expresses 
something  of  the  pleasure  and  consolation  which  it  has  been  my  lot 
to  discover  in  music.  Music,  as  an  art,  suffuses  the  soul  of  man  with 
sweet  regret,  by  giving  it  a  glimpse  of  happiness*,  and  a  glimpse  of 
happiness,  even  if  it  is  no  more  than  a  dream  of  happiness,  is  almost 
the  dawning  of  hope.  Books,  on  the  other  hand — the  quintessence  of 
the  rarest  flowers  of  the  genius  of  France — I  have  set  down  in  disgust 
a  score  of  times.  Rhetoric!  All  rhetoricl  I  have  not  the  faintest  spark 
of  Rousseau's  illuminating  eloquence;  and  so  I  have  struggled 
1  In  English  in  the  original.  (Tram.) 


348  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

constantly  to  set  aside  this  temptation,  this  defect  which  turns  my 
stomach  whenever  I  read  his  works.1  Yet  ...  Rousseau  wrote  many 
burning  pages  on  the  sweet  art  of  music;  and  so  let  us  return  to  our 
own  delightful  subject. 

I  am  sure  that  our  modern  dilettanti,  born  in  Rossini's  own  genera 
tion,  and,  so  to  speak,  sons  of  the  revolution  for  which  he  alone  is 
ultimately  responsible,  will  allow  me  to  remind  them  of  some  of  the 
advantages  which  the  old  traditions  of  respect  for  the  personal  rights 
of  any  singer  worthy  of  the  name  used  to  procure  for  the  art  of 
expression,  or,  in  other  words,  for  the  pleasure  of  the  audience. 

There  is  no  less  diversity  among  human  voices  than  among  human 
faces.  This  diversity,  which  is  already  remarkable  in  the  speaking 
voice,  is  a  hundred  times  more  noticeable  in  singing. 

I  wonder  if  the  reader  has  ever  observed  the  timbre  of  Made 
moiselle  Mars'  voice?  Where  might  one  hope  to  find  a  singer  whose 
voice  could  realize  one  hundredth  part  of  the  miracles  which 
Mademoiselle  Mars  seems  to  promise  in  some  exquisite  flash  of 
delicate  marivaudagel 

Pity,  fear,  astonishment,  etc.,  can  produce  radical  and  diverse 
transformations  in  the  human  voice — in  the  voices,  say,  of  those 
three  charming  ladies  who  were  of  our  company  last  time  we  were 
discussing  music;  the  effect  of  pity,  for  instance,  upon  one  of  those 
voices,  which,  in  simple  speech,  is  nothing  remarkable,  may  produce 
an  intonation  of  heart-rending  loveliness,  a  thrilling  overtone  of 
emotion,  which,  by  some  instantaneous,  electrical  galvanization  of 
the  nervous  system,  can  plunge  every  listener  into  a  boundless  ocean 
of  melancholy.  Yet,  under  Rossini's  influence,  this  individual  divers 
ity,  this  unique  shading  of  the  voice,  is  doomed  to  extinction.  In  his 
system,  every  voice  is  required  to  render,  more  or  less  competently, 
an  identical  series  of  notes,  and  nothing  else:  it  follows  logically, 
therefore,  that  the  net  result  of  Rossini's  revolution  is  the  impoverish 
ment  of art  itself.2 

The  particular  natural  resonance  (metallo)  inherent  in  every  voice 

1  In  Geneva,  I  understand,  Rousseau  has  no  great  reputation;  but  by  contrast, 
Voltaire,  so  frivolous,  so  cynical,  so  anti-religious,  so  anti-Genevan,  seems  to  be 
growing  daily  more  popular.  The  reason?— well,  after  aU,  Voltaire  was  enjoying 
an  income  of  80,000  livres  a  year  by  the  time  tie  died! 

2  Except,  of  course,  in  the  case  of  the  one  particular  voice  for  which  Rossini 
happens  to  have  specially  devised  his  ornamentation.  Signorina  Colbran  owes  a 
considerable  part  of  her  reputation  directly  to  Rossini. 


EXCUSES  349 

leads  to  a  more  or  less  obvious  tonal  identification  with  this  or  that 
expressed  emotion.  By  the  term  metallo,  I  mean  the  timbre  of  the 
voice,  its  fundamental,  native  quality,  which  is  in  no  way  dependent 
upon  any  talent  or  training  which  the  singer  who  uses  the  voice  may 
have  inherited  or  acquired. 

A  voice  may  be  clear  or  opaque,  strong  or  weak,  full  or  sottile, 
strident  or  muted;1  but  in  each  case  it  embodies,  deep  down  in  its 
own  nature,  the  raw  materials  of  various  expressive  intonations, 
which,  in  themselves,  may  or  may  not  be  immediately  pleasurable  to 
listen  to. 

It  may  be  confidently  asserted  that  any  voice,  provided  only  that  it 
has  a  certain  degree  of  precision,  thus  enabling  it  to  sustain  a  note 
with  reasonable  firmness,  may  sooner  or  later  find  music  sufficiently 
well-suited  to  it  for  us  to  be  able  to  listen  to  it  with  relative  pleasure, 
at  least  for  a  few  moments.  The  composer  has  only  to  take  the  trouble 
to  devise  a  melody  which  falls  well  within  the  expressive  compass  of 
the  particular  voice  which  he  has  in  mind.  To  begin  with,  it  is  essen 
tial  that  the  situation,  initially  sketched  out  by  the  dramatist,  should 
not  contradict  the  native  emotional  timbre  of  the  voice  concerned. 
For  instance,  the  natural  quality  of  the  voice  may  be  one  of  sweet 
ness,  softness  and  stirring  warmth;  but  in  that  case,  if  the  character 
and  circumstances  which  it  is  required  to  portray  are  imperious  and 
violent  (as,  for  example,  in  the  rdle  ofElisabetta,  in  Rossini's  opera  of 
that  title),  it  stands  to  reason  that  nothing  on  earth  will  ever  enable  it 
to  display  its  finest  qualities,  or  to  give  complete  satisfaction  to  those 
who  listen  to  it.  Technically  speaking,  a  singer  may  possess  every 
gift  under  the  sun,  and  a  soul  alive  to  the  subtlest  hint  of  a  nuance; 
yet  none  of  this  can  avail  him  a  jot  against  the  obdurate  metatto  of  his 
voice.  The  purest  miracles  known  to  the  art  are  only  achieved  when  a 
voice,  which  long  training  has  transformed  into  an  instrument  of 
infinite  flexibility,  is  offered  the  rare  gift  of  a  situation  which  demands 
precisely  the  metallo  (timbre,  natural  shade  of  expression)  which 
happens  to  be  native  to  it.  The  occasions  when  all  these  conditions 
are  fulfilled  simultaneously  are  so  rare,  that  it  is,  practically  speaking, 
impossible  to  foresee  when  the  miracle  will  occur;  and  it  is  precisely 
because  the  occasion  was  in  fact  so  miraculous  that  an  audience  at 

1  The  same  sentence  in  Italian  would  ran  as  foEows:  Una  vacepura  o  velata, 
debole  oforte9  plena  o  sottik,  stridula  o  smarzata. 


350  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

la  Scala  once  made  Pacchiarotti  sing  the  same  aria  five  times  in 
succession.1 

Once  the  fact  of  distinct  vocal  individuality  is  recognized  and 
admitted,  it  follows  logically  that  the  composer  now  has  a  duty  to 
take  advantage  of  the  native  qualities  of  each  particular  voice,  and  to 
avoid  harping  upon  its  weaknesses.  Can  one  imagine,  for  example, 
any  composer  so  obtuse  as  to  saddle  Madame  Fodor  with  an  im 
passioned  recitative,  or  Madame  Pasta  with  an  aria  overlaid  with  a 
tracery  of  elaborate  and  glittering  decoration?  One  of  the  results  of 
all  this  is  the  practice,  commonly  met  with  in  Italy,  for  a  second-rate 
singer2  to  travel  about  the  countryside  completely  equipped  with  a 
special  set  of  arias,  usually  referred  to  as  arie  di  baule*  or  baggage- 
arias,  which  are  carried  around  permanently,  as  it  were,  like  a  change 
of  underwear.  In  dealing  with  a  singer  of  this  category,  a  composer 
may  write  any  music  he  cares,  and  insist  with  legitimate  authority 
upon  his  performing  it;  but  you  may  be  certain  that,  by  hook  or  by 
crook,  the  singer  will  find  some  way  of  dragging  in  his  baggage-arias, 
and,  if  he  cannot  introduce  them  in  toto,  he  will  get  them  in  in  frag 
ments — the  whole  procedure  being  regarded  as  one  of  the  huge 
standing  jokes  of  the  Italian  stage! 

Reprehensible  as  such  practices  may  appear,  it  must  still  be 
allowed  that  these  mediocre  hacks  achieve  what  is  after  all  the  sacred 
objective  of  all  art:  they  delight  the  public.  How  infinitely  far  removed 
from  all  this  are  the  precepts  and  practice  of  our  own  Louvois 
orchestra,  and  indeed  the  whole  conception  of  music  as  it  is  under 
stood  in  that  venerable  institution ! 

Unfortunately,  the  slightest  alteration  in  the  tempo  of  the  main 
theme  of  a  baggage-aria  is  quite  sufficient  to  revolutionize  the  entire 
emotional  pattern  of  the  music.  A  phrase  which,  in  its  original  tempo, 
had  depicted  wild  anger,  may  now  express  nothing  more  urgent  than 
gentle  scorn;  and  yet,  in  spite  of  this  radical  change  in  the  quality  of 
expression,  dictated  by  the  ileed  for  inserting  the  passage  into  a  thor- 

1  I  owe  these  ideas  to  PaccMarotti  himself,  who  granted  me  the  privilege  of  Ms 
conversation  one  day  in  1817,  on  an  occasion  when  he  was  showing  me  round  his 
jardin  anglais,  and  the  tower,  originally  belonging  to  Cardinal  Bembo,  which  he 
owns  near  the  Prato  detta  Valle,  in  Padua.  Cf.  the  Author's  account  of  a  journey 
entitled  Rome,  Naples  et  Florence  en  1817. 

2  Even,  on  occasions,  for  a  first-rate  singer  too;  Crivelli  and  Velluti  never  stir 
abroad  nowadays  without  packing  a  score  of  Isolina  (an  opera  which  they  give 
everywhere)  in  their  baggage. 


EXCUSES  351 

oughly  incompatible  musical  context,  our  wretched  repertory-singer, 
whose  one  and  only  advantage  is  a  voice  thoroughly  acquainted  with 
the  passage  or  phrase  in  question,  will  still  somehow  manage  to  give 
an  excellent  performance,  and  even  to  hold  his  audience  enthralled. 
The  reason  for  this  phenomenon  is  that  the  particular  theme  of  his 
choice  is  probably  better  suited  than  any  other,  a)  to  the  native 
timbre  of  the  performer's  voice;  b)  to  the  peculiar  natural  shading  of 
his  own  individual  sensibility;  and  c)  to  the  exact  degree  of  technical 
proficiency  with  which  his  academic  training  may  have  endowed  him. 
Thus  the  baggage-aria  tradition  completely  obviates  the  worst  faults 
of  strained  (stentato)  singing;  and  it  is  precisely  such  strained  singing 
which  represents  the  most  serious  weakness  in  the  tradition  of  the 
Theatre  Feydeau—&  tradition  which,  for  all  that,  is  a  good  forty  years 
further  removed  from  the  dark  ages  of  barbarism  than  that  of  the 
Grand  Opera. 

The  reader  will  not  have  failed  to  observe,  that  even  a  first-rate 
singer  does  not  necessarily  have  to  know  how  to  read  music.  The  art 
of  reading,  in  fact,  is  completely  divorced  from  the  art  of  singing,1 
and  demands  nothing  more  profound  or  subtle  than  patience  and  a 
certain  capacity  for  severe  and  methodical  perseverance. 

One  successful  role — or  in  some  cases,  one  successful  ana— can 
make  the  reputation  of  a  competent  singer  in  Italy;  and  before 
Rossini's  time,  even  that  of  a  supreme  artist  often  hung  upon  no  more 
than  ten  or  a  dozen  arias.  The  art  of  singing  is  so  delicate,  the  delight 
which  it  inspires  is  of  so  thistledown  a  quality,  that  no  singer  can 
hope  to  enjoy  an  absolute  success  unless  he  chance  upon  an  aria 
which  fulfils,  in  one  sublime  instant  of  perfection,  all  the  essential 
conditions  which  we  have  already  had  several  occasions  to  mention. 
It  follows,  then,  that  there  is  nothing  better  calculated  to  satisfy  an 
audience  than  an  aria  di  baule.  The  truth  of  the  proposition  can  be 
demonstrated  even  in  the  rather  different  conditions  of  the  spoken 
theatre:  how  many  different  parts  combine  to  furnish  the  reputation 
of  a  Talma  or  a  Mademoiselle  Mars?  The  baggage-aria  tradition  is 
admirably  devised,  not  only  with  regard  to  the  undeniable  mediocrity 

1  In  Italy,  singers  who  have  difficulty  in  reading  music  are  known  as  orec- 
chtonti;  their  opposites,  by  the  term  professore.  Thus  you  may  often  bear  it 
asserted  in  Florence,  that  Zuchetti  &  unprofsssore — which  is  very  far  from  mean 
ing  that  Zuchelli  gives  music-lessons,  but  simply  denotes  that  he  has  no  difficulty 
in  reading  music. 


352  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

of  the  average  performer — a  mediocrity  which  is  scarcely  to  be  won 
dered  at  in  an  art  so  supremely  difficult — but  also  with  respect  to  the 
extreme  poverty  which  haunts  the  resources  of  so  many  of  the 
smaller  Italian  towns;  for  such  places,  despite  the  grotesque  insuffi 
ciency  of  the  municipal  purse,  still  manage  to  achieve  two  or  three 
extremely  adequate  productions  every  year,  a  miracle  which  is  only 
made  possible  by  the  exploitation  of  the  baggage-aria,  and  by  the 
engagement  of  two  or  three  exceedingly  mediocre  artists,  each  one  of 
whom  is  nevertheless  capable  of  giving  a  really  brilliant  performance 
of  not  more  than  two  or  three  arias.1 

As  soon  as  a  composer  forgets  to  take  into  account  the  metallo 
(inherent  tonal  quality)  of  his  singers'  voices,  the  type  of  emotional 
portrayal  which  comes  most  naturally  to  them  on  the  stage,  and  the 
degree  of  technique  (bravura)  which  they  may  have  acquired  in  the 
pure  mechanics  of  singing,  he  runs  the  almost  certain  risk  of  obtain 
ing  no  more  for  the  price  of  all  his  pains  than  a  careful,  correctly- 
sung  opera  which  no  one  enjoys  the  least  little  bit. 

There  are  plenty  of  singers  who  are  constitutionally  incapable  of 
dealing  with  certain  categories  of  ornamentation  (yolate,  arpeggi, 
salti  on  a  descending  scale,  etc.\  save  in  the  most  stilted  and  un 
natural  (stentata)  manner.  With  a  singer  of  this  type  at  his  disposal, 
any  composer  who  fails  to  make  the  necessary  allowances  in  his 
score,  making  a  clean  sweep  of  every  musical  device  belonging  to  the 
categories  described,  is  courting  disaster;  for  he  is  liable  to  find  him 
self  in  the  absurd  situation,  where  his  arias,  in  performance,  will 
convey  a  series  of  impressions  which  are  the  diametrical  opposite  of 
what  he  had  originally  intended.  If  I  may  be  excused  for  putting 
forward  an  example  which  is  perhaps  rather  over-simplified,  both  in 
idea  and  in  illustration,  I  will  try  to  explain  exactly  what  I  mean. 
Imagine  a  composer  who  wishes  to  convey  the  idea  of  a  sudden  and 
uninterrupted  downpour  of  rain,  or  rather,  say,  of  some  oriental 
despot  commanding  a  slave  to  vanish  instantly  from  his  presence, 
and  who  therefore  proceeds  to  decorate  his  fundamental  musical 
theme  with  a  volata  descendente;  nothing  could  look  prettier  in  the 
score.  But  on  the  glorious  day  of  the  first  performance,  the  audience, 

1  In  October  of  the  year  1822, 1  came  upon  a  quite  delightful  production  of  an 
opera  in  Varese,  an  insignificant  little  township  in  Lombardy  no  bigger  than 
Saint-Cloud,  whose  inhabitants,  incidentally,  are  remarkable  for  their  tradition 
of  most  perfect  courtesy  towards  foreigners. 


EXCUSES  353 

faced  with  a  thoroughly  incompetent  singer,  will  miss  all  these  care 
fully-prepared  suggestions  of  an  inexorable  monarch  issuing  an  order 
where  disobedience  means  death,  and  instead,  as  with  one  mind,  will 
behold  a  vision  of  a  decrepit  and  ill-tempered  attorney  stammering 
with  impotent  and  choleric  rage  in  the  dusty  depths  of  his  chambers. 
Even  if  the  absurdity  escapes  this  furthest  limit  of  bathos,  the  slight 
est  touch  of  incompetence  in  the  rendering  of  the  volata  will  neces 
sarily  kill  the  impression  of  rapidity,  which  the  composer  was  striving 
above  all  to  convey  to  the  audience;  and  in  consequence,  the  poor 
despot,  with  his  terrible  command  to  vanish  upon  the  very  instant, 
will  find  himself  translated  into  a  constitutional  monarch  politely 
inviting  some  harmless  exile  to  leave  his  court  as  and  when  it  suits  Ms 
convenience.  I  would  observe  that  there  is  not  one  single  embellish 
ment  of  the  type  executed  by  Velluti,  which  might  not  lead  to  some 
similar,  fantastic  interpretation.  Every  time  I  am  away  from  Italy,  I 
am  constantly  hearing  Rossini's  music  tortured  into  making  the 
strangest  confessions,  almost  always  in  flat  contradiction  to  the  truth 
which  it  is  struggling  so  valiantly  to  express;  and  the  only  reason  for 
this  breakdown  of  musical  logic  lies  in  the  fact  that  his  score  has 
coerced  the  singer  into  performing  some  ornament  or  other  which  is 
totally  incompatible  with  the  natural  qualities  of  his  or  her  voice. 
Whenever  this  happens,  I,  who  know  how  Rossini's  music  should 
sound,  find  myself  listening  to  no  more  than  half,  or  at  very  best, 
three-quarters,  of  the  melody  as  it  was  originally  written.  Now,  it  will 
be  obvious  that  so  monstrous  and  so  absurd  a  situation  could  never 
have  arisen  for  a  moment  under  the  older  system,  when  the  greater 
liberty  of  the  singer  was  a  major  consideration.  In  pre-Rossinian 
music,  the  only  obstacle  liable  to  be  met  with  might  lie  in  the  presence 
of  one  or  two  abnormally  high-pitched  notes — an  obstacle  which 
would  only  arise  when  the  passage  under  discussion  had  originally 
been  specifically  destined  by  the  composer  for  some  singer  with  an 
extremely  unusual  range  of  voice;  once  free  of  this  particular  obstruc 
tion,  however  (and  its  removal  would  involve  remarkably  little  really 
serious  difficulty),  the  singer  was  then  unreservedly  free  to  select  his 
own  style  of  embellishment,  and  to  use  no  ornament  of  which  he  was 
not  reasonably  sure;  and  so  there  would  be  nothing  to  prevent  him 
from  dazzling  his  assembled  admirers  with  all  the  individuality  and 
beauty  of  his  own  unique  voice  and  technical  virtuosity. 


354  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

I  imagine  that  some  well-informed  critic,  who  has  indulged  his  love 
of  music  to  the  extent  of  making  a  careful  study  of  the  individual 
voices  of  all  the  singers  who  took  part  in  the  original  productions  of 
Rossini's  nine  Neapolitan  operas,  may  well  object  that  the  composer 
frequently  appears  to  have  failed  to  take  proper  advantage  of  all  the 
characteristics  of  each  particular  voice,  even  when  he  was  able  to 
study  it  specifically  with  a  view  to  composing  for  it.  I  can  only 
answer  that,  apparently,  Rossini  was  so  deeply  enamoured  of  his 
prima  donna  that  he  was  prepared  to  go  to  any  lengths  to  ensure  that 
she  was  never  overshadowed  by  any  other  singer. 

But  with  this  one  solitary  exception,  the  scores  of  Rossini's  Nea 
politan  operas  are  a  biography  of  voices — not  only  giving  us  the 
vocal  history  of  Signorina  Colbran  herself,  but  also  that  of  Nozzari, 
Davide,  Signorina  Pisaroni  and  others.  These  scores  make  it  quite 
clear  that  all  the  embellishments,  which  singers  had  hitherto  claimed 
the  right  to  distribute  ad  libitum,  had  now  been  transformed  into  an 
integral,  necessary,  indispensable  constituent  part  of  Rossini's  music; 
but  that  does  not  solve  the  problem,  how  any  singer  is  to  perform  this 
music  when  his  voice  does  not  happen  to  possess  exactly  the  same 
characteristics  as  that  of  Nozzari  or  Davide. 

The  operas  which  belong  to  Rossini's  "second  manner"  are  never 
boring i  they  have  none  of  the  infinite  and  barren  tedium  of  an  opera 
by  Mayer,  for  example;  but  they  can  never  recapture  the  same  extra 
ordinary  spell  which  they  managed  to  cast  in  Naples,  except  when,  by 
sheer  chance  and  on  the  rarest  of  occasions,  they  may  happen  to  be 
graced  by  a  singer  whose  voice  is  a  natural  medium  for  exactly  the 
same  type  of  embellishments  as  were  best  suited  to  the  specific  artist 
for  whom  the  role  was  originally  composed,  and  whose  style  corres 
ponds  exactly  to  his. 

All  this  should  suffice  to  explain  how  it  is,  that  certain  operas 
which  created  an  absolute  furore  in  Naples,  have  been  known  to 
provide  nothing  but  yawns  at  the  Theatre  Louvois.  Both  audiences 
are  right  in  their  judgment;  and  there  is  no  need  to  go  off  exploring 
the  boundless  infinite  of  metaphysics  in  order  to  find  an  explanation 
for  so  uncomplicated  a  phenomenon.  The  fault  lies  entirely  with  the 
management  of  the  Louvois.  Have  you  ever  witnessed  anything  more 
impertinent*  for  example,  than  its  latest  production  of  gli  Orazii  e 
Curiazin  If  it  had  happened  in  Italy,  the  audience  would  have  refused 


EXCUSES  355 

to  leave  the  theatre  until  the  "management"  had  obeyed  Its  Imperious 
summons  and  appeared  on  the  stage  in  person  to  be  hooted  at!1 

Rossini's  genius,  imagination  and  verve  are  such  that  he  has  never 
learnt  how  to  be  boring,  whatever  the  convention  he  may  choose  to 
adopt;  but  I  shudder  to  tMnk  at  some  of  the  curious  results  which 
may  be  obtained  when  his  imitators  start  producing  music,  and  when 
this  music  is  performed  in  theatres  other  than  those  for  which  it  was 
originally  composed.  Such  music  of  this  category  as  has  already  been 
written  closely  resembles  Rossini's,  in  that  it  is  almost  wholly  woven 
out  of  ornamental  material  which  happens  to  suit  the  singers  for 
which  it  is  destined  in  the  first  instance;  and  this  ornamentation  is  in 
fact  an  integral  part  of  the  thematic  substance  of  the  music.  But  it  is 
precisely  when  thematic  material  of  this  type  is  badly  performed  by 
singers  whose  voices  are  incompetent  to  deal  with  it*,  that  we  dig 
right  down  to  that  very  rock-bottom  of  mediocrity  which  is  intoler 
able  in  any  art,  and  doubly  or  trebly  intolerable  in  music. 

It  goes  without  saying  that  none  of  this  criticism  of  Rossini's  music 
applies  in  any  degree  to  the  happy  days  when  he  was  composing 
arias  such  as: 

Eco pietosa  ... 
or: 

Di  tantipalpiti ... 
or: 

Pien  di  contento  ilseno . . . 
or: 

Non  e  ver  mio  ben,  ch*  io  mom  ... 
or: 

Se  tu  m*  ami,  o  mia  regina  ...5  etc. 

But  the  terrible  thing  is,  that  if  only  he  had  gone  on  making 
progress  in  the  same  direction,  he  would  probably  have  written  music 
besides  which  these  sublime  arias  would  have  seemed  pale  and 
insignificant.  There  are,  admittedly,  one  or  two  arias  in  la  Donna  del 
Lago,  a  work  truly  Ossianic  in  character,  which  suggest  a  return 
to  the  days  of  his  youth;  but  at  bottom,  this  opera  is  epic  rather 
than  dramatic. 

1  No  commercial  manager  would  ever  have  dared  to  put  on  gli  Orani  with  the 
kind  of  cast  which  we  were  offered!  The  Louvois  ought  to  be  ran  on  a  commercial 
basis,  and  put  out  to  contract,  like  la  Scda. 


356  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

Do  I  need  to  repeat  that,  while  Velluti,  the  Prince  of  Singers  of  our 
own  generation,  is  capable  of  performing  the  most  astonishing  feats 
of  virtuosity,  he  is  all  too  frequently  guilty  of  abusing  his  natural 
gifts,  sometimes  devastating  and  distorting  the  music  of  some 
wretched  composer  until  it  becomes  practically  impossible  to  recog 
nize?  Velluti  never  affords  us  the  supreme  pleasure  of  listening  to  a 
simple  melody;  and  he  hardly  ever  performs  Rossini's  music.  Velluti's 
main  concern  is  to  play  to  the  boundless  admiration  of  a  worshipping 
audience;  flattery  has  grown  to  be  an  indispensable  part  of  his  very 
existence.  Now,  it  happens  that  one  of  the  rare  ornaments  which 
Velluti  has  never  quite  mastered  is  the  scale  in  giu  (ascending  scales), 
a  form  of  embellishment  which  Signorina  Colbran  could  execute 
with  consummate  ease,  and  therefore  one  which  Rossini  has  been 
accustomed  to  scatter  lavishly  throughout  his  work.  Logically,  there 
fore,  none  of  the  music  which  Rossini  wrote  for  Signorina  Colbran 
can  ever  be  performed  by  Velluti,  or  at  least,  it  could  only  be  per 
formed  in  a  highly  unsatisfactory  manner,  and  could  achieve  nothing 
but  a  succes  d'estime. 


A 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

Concerning  the  various  Qualities  of  the 
Human  Voice 


HUNTING-HORN,  echoing  over  the  hills  of  the  Scottish  high 
lands,  can  be  heard  at  a  considerably  greater  distance  than  the  human 
voice.  In  this  respect,  but  in  this  respect  only,  art  has  outdistanced 
nature:  art  has  succeeded  in  increasing  the  volume  of  sound  pro 
duced.  But  in  respect  of  something  infinitely  more  important,  namely 
inflexion  and  ornamentation,  the  human  voice  still  maintains  its 
superiority  over  any  instrument  yet  invented,  and  it  might  even  be 
claimed  that  no  instrument  is  satisfactory  except  in  so  far  as  it 
approximates  to  the  sound  of  the  human  voice. 

I  would  suggest  that,  if,  in  some  moment  of  pensive  stillness  and 
brooding  melancholy,  we  were  to  peer  into  the  very  depths  of  our 
soul,  we  would  discover  that  the  fascination  of  the  human  voice 
springs  from  two  distinct  causes : 

(1)  The  suggestion  of  passion,  which,  to  a  greater  or  lesser  degree, 
inevitably  colours  anything  which  is  sung  by  living  man  or  woman. 
Even  the  least  impassioned  of  prime  donne,  le  Signore  Camporesi, 
Fodor,  Festa,  etc.,  whose  voices  express  no  positive  emotion,  still 
radiate  a  kind  of  indeterminate  joy.  I  make  a  half-exception  only  in 
favour  of  Signora  Catalani,  whose  prodigiously  beautiful  voice  fills 
the  soul  with  a  kind  of  astonished  wonder,  as  though  it  beheld  a 
miracle;  and  the  very  confusion  of  our  hearts  blinds  us  at  first  to  the 
noble  and  goddess-like  impassivity  of  this  unique  artist  Sometimes, 
in  an  idle  moment,  I  like  to  imagine  a  creature  who  combined  the 
voice  of  Signora  Catalani  with  the  impassioned  soul  and  dramatic 
instinct  of  la  Pasta — a  fond,  sweet  chimaera,  whose  dream-quality 
leads  only  to  sadness  and  regret  for  a  thing  which  is  not;  and  yet, 
whose  very  possibility  leaves  one  convinced  that  music  sways  a 
greater  power  over  the  soul  than  any  other  art.1 

1  Imagine  the  rapture  which  might  be  derived  from  Romberg's  genius  on  the 
*  cello,  if  only  the  player  had  the  impassioned  soul  of  a  Werther>  instead  of  the  flat. 


358  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

(2)  The  second  advantage  which  the  human  voice  possesses  by 
comparison  with  the  instrument  lies  in  its  command  of  language., 
which  can,  as  it  were,  storm  the  imagination,  and  fill  it  directly 
with  the  kind  of  imagery  which  the  music  is  to  embroider  and 
develop. 

If  the  human  voice  is  weak  in  tone,  compared  with  certain  instru 
ments,  it  can  claim  the  power  of  graduating  sounds  to  a  degree  pf 
perfection  inconceivable  in  any  mechanical  device. 

The  human  voice  commands  an  infinite  variety  of  inflexions 
(which  is  the  same  thing  as  saying  that  a  totally  passionless  voice  is  a 
practical  impossibility) ;  and,  to  my  mind,  this  particular  quality  is  of 
far  greater  significance  than  its  other  distinguishing  characteristic, 
the  power  to  express  itself  in  language. 

To  start  with,  the  excruciating  doggerel  which  forms  the  verbal 
skeleton  of  the  average  Italian  aria  is  hardly  -ever  recognizable  as 
verse  of  any  description,  owing  to  the  multiplicity  of  repeats;  the 
language  which  greets  the  listener's  patient  ear  is  pure  prose.1 
Furthermore,  the  beauty  of  poetry  does  not  lie  in  its  bold  and  melo 
dramatic  exclamations,  such  as  I  hate  you  like  poison!  or  I  love  you  to 
distraction!  etc.,  but  in  its  shades  and  subtleties,  in  the  skilled  order 
ing  or  selection  of  words;  and  it  is  these  nuances  which  convince  the 
reader  of  the  poet's  sincerity,  and  which  ultimately  awaken  his  sym 
pathy  and  understanding.  But  there  is  no  room  for  nuances  among 
the  haphazard  jumble  of  50-60  words  which  go  to  form  the  text  of  the 
average  Italian  aria;  and  so  language,  as  such,  can  never  be  anything 
more  than  a  bare  canvas;  the  task  of  decorating  this  canvas  with  all 
the  glint  and  glitter  of  a  thousand  tints  and  colours  lies  with  the 
music. 

Would  you  like  a  further  proof  that  words  are  fundamentally 
unimportant  in  relation  to  music,  and  that,  in  practice,  they  are 
nothing  but  labels  to  stick  on  emotions!  Consider  any  aria  you  like, 
sung  with  all  the  deep  and  impassioned  sincerity  of  a  Madame  Belloc 
or  of  a  Signorina  Pisaroni;  and  then  consider  the  same  aria  sung  an 
instant  later  by  one  or  other  of  our  book-learned,  half-frozen  tailor's- 
prosaic  spirit  of  a  worthy  Teutonic  burgher!  Fraiilein  von  Schauroth  is  only  nine 
years  old  at  present,  but  her  fame  has  already  gone  abroad,  and  her  temperament 
promises  all  the  tempestuous  wildness  of  true  genius. 

1  As  an  exercise,  transcribe  the  words  of  the  famous  aria:  Quelle  pupille 
tenere  ...  as  they  are  actually  sung  in  the  score  of  gli  OraziL 


THE  HUMAN  VOICE  359 

dummies  from  the  North.  The  latter  worthy,  if  frigid,  songstress  will 
undoubtedly  utter  the  very  same  words: 

lofremo,  mio  ben,  morir  mi  sento  ... 

as  the  great  artist  who  has  just  preceded  her;  but  what  can  words  do 
to  shatter  the  creeping  rim  of  ice  which  has  fastened  on  to  our 
hearts? 

Two  words,  three  words  ...  just  enough  to  tell  us  that  the  hero  is 
sunk  into  depths  of  despair,  or  else  that  he  is  winging  across  the 
infinite  spaces  of  happiness — this  is  all  we  need  to  grasp;  if  we  then 
catch,  or  fail  to  catch  completely,  the  words  of  the  rest  of  the  aria, 
either  way  is  utterly  indifferent;  .all  that  really  matters  is  that  they 
should  be  sung  with  passionate  sincerity.  This  is  what  makes  it  pos 
sible  to  listen  with  appreciable  delight  to  a  good  performance  of  an 
opera  in  a  foreign  language,  even  though,  in  this  case,  the  words  may 
be  entirely  incomprehensible;  so  long  as  some  kind  neighbour  gives 
one  the  key  to  the  more  important  arias,  nothing  else  is  needed.  The 
same  principle  holds  good  in  the  spoken  theatre:  it  is  quite  conceiv 
able  to  derive  considerable  pleasure  from  watching  a  great  tragic 
actor  playing  in  a  language  with  which  one  has  but  the  sketchiest 
acquaintance.  The  conclusion  to  be  drawn  from  all  these  observations 
would  seem  to  be,  that  the  inflexion  of  the  words  is  of  far  greater 
importance  in  opera  than  the  words  themselves. 

No  quality  is  more  essential  in  a  singer  than  Ms  power  of  dramatic 
expression. 

So  long  as  this  power  remains  totally,  or  even  partially,  undevel 
oped  and  inadequate,  there  is  no  victory  to  be  won  in  the  art  of  sing 
ing  which  can  be  anything  more  than  ephemeral,  no  triumph  which 
cannot  be  attributed  to  some  accidental  favour  or  partiality  on  the 
side  of  the  audience — a  partiality  which,  ultimately,  will  be  found  to 
derive  from  sources  completely  foreign  to  art  as  such:  physical 
attractiveness  in  the  performer,  a  coincidence  of  political  sentiments, 
or  similar  extraneous  considerations. 

Italy  is  full  of  legendary  prophecies,  punctual  to  the  day  in  the 
manner  of  their  fulfilment  The  tale  is  told  of  a  Neapolitan  dilettante 
who,  referring  to  two  fair  singers,  one  of  whom  was  idolized  like  the 
morning  star  by  her  audiences,  while  the  other  was  scarcely  tolerated 
on  the  stage,  stood  up  in  the  middle  of  the  San-Carlo9  seized  by  one 


360  LIFE^OF  ROSSINI 

of  those  mighty  paroxysms  of  indignation  and  passionate  anger 
which  are  not  infrequently  met  with  in  that  city,  and  cried  aloud:  "In 
three  years'  time,  you  will  be  trampling  your  idol  underfoot;  in  three 
years'  time,  you  will  be  worshipping  the  goddess  whom  you  now 
reject!"  Scarcely  eighteen  months  had  rolled  by  before  the  prophecy 
was  accomplished,  for  the  cantatrice  who  had  sung  with  expression 
had  utterly  supplanted  the  sometime  prima  donna  whom  nature  had 
gifted  with  an  infinitely  finer  voice.  One  might  draw  a  parallel  be 
tween  the  company  of  an  extremely  handsome  man  and  that  of  an 
extremely  intelligent  man.  But  even  if  the  defeated  prima  donna  had 
sung,  not  with  a  superb  natural  voice  (which  is  a  free  gift  of  chance), 
but  with  bravura  (which  is  largely  acquired),  the  same  revolution  in 
the  taste  of  those  Neapolitan  audiences,  the  same  revolt  against  the 
absence  of  dramatic  expression,  would  inevitably  have  occurred  in  the 
end,  although  perhaps  a  little  more  slowly. 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

Madame  Pasta* 

JL  HE  temptation  to  sketch  a  musical  portrait  of  Madame  Pasta  is 
too  strong  to  be  resisted.  It  may  be  averred  that  there  was  never  a 
more  difficult  undertaking;  the  language  of  musical  description  is 
ungrateful  and  outlandish;  I  shall  find  myself  constantly  baulked  by 
inadequacies  of  vocabulary;  and  even  on  those  occasions  when  I  am 
lucky  enough  to  light  upon  the  exact  word  required  to  convey  my 
thought,  the  chances  are  that  it  will  awaken  none  but  the  vaguest 
associations  in  the  reader's  mind.  Furthermore,  there  can  scarcely  be 
one  single  music-lover  in  all  Paris  who  has  not  already  invented  his 
own  epithets  in  praise  of  Madame  Pasta;  none,  therefore,  will  escape 
the  disappointment  of  failing  to  find  his  own  thought  reflected  here; 
and  even  the  most  favourably-disposed  of  readers,  in  the  heat  of 
devotion  which  this  great  singer  so  deservedly  inspires  among  her 
admirers,  is  bound  to  find  any  portrait  of  her  from  another  hand  flat, 
insipid,  and  a  thousand  times  less  wondrous  than  he  had  a  right  to 
expect. 

When  chance  ordained  that  Rossini  should  meet  the  charming  and 
gracious  Signora  Marcolini,  the  outcome  was  la  Pietra  delParagone; 
when  it  was  decreed  that  he  should  fall  in  with  the  majestic  Signorina 
Colbran,  the  result  was  Elisabetta;  and  when  fate  led  him  to  the 
impassioned  and  melodramatic  Galli,  we  were  gratified  with  rdles 
such  as  Fernando  in  la  Gazza  ladra  and  Mahomet  in  Maometto 
secondo;  but  he  has  never  yet  composed  anything  expressly  for 
Madame  Pasta. 

If  this  same  chance  were  to  present  Rossini  with  an  actress  who  is 
young  and  beautiful;  who  is  both  intelligent  and  sensitive;  whose 
gestures  never  deteriorate  from  the  plainest  and  most  natural  modes 
of  simplicity,  and  yet  manage  to  keep  faith  with  the  purest  ideals  of 
formal  beauty;  if,  allied  to  such  an  extraordinary  wealth  of  dramatic 
talent,  Rossini  were  to  discover  a  voice  which  never  fails  to  thrill  our 
very  souls  with  the  passionate  exaltation  which  we  used,  long  ago,  to 

LR  N 


362  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

capture  from  the  great  masters  of  the  Golden  Age ;  a  voice  which  can 
weave  a  spell  of  magic  about  the  plainest  word  in  the  plainest  recita 
tive;  a  voice  whose  compelling  inflexions  can  subdue  the  most  recal 
citrant  and  obdurate  of  hearts,  and  oblige  them  to  share  in  the 
emotions  which  radiate  from  some  great  aria  ...  if  Rossini  were  to 
discover  such  a  world  of  wonder,  who  doubts  but  that  the  miraculous 
would  happen,  that  he  would  shed  his  laziness  like  a  garment,  settle 
down  unreservedly  to  a  study  of  Madame  Pasta's  voice,  and  soon 
start  composing  within  the  special  range  of  her  abilities?  Inspired  by 
the  sublime  gifts  of  such  a  prima  donna,  Rossini  would  recover  the 
ardour  which  burned  like  a  bright  flame  in  his  soul  at  the  outset  of  his 
career,  and  win  back  the  secret  of  those  delicious  and  simple  melodies 
which  laid  the  first  foundations  of  his  reputation.  Imagine  then  what 
masterpieces  would  come  to  crown  the  glory  of  the  Theatre  Louvois> 
and  how  little  time  would  pass  before  Paris  should  stand  forth  before 
the  dazzled  eyes  of  all  Europe  as  the  Capital  of  Music,  usurping  the 
majesty  now  reserved  for  the  audiences  of  Naples  and  Milan! 

If  Rossini  were  to  hear  one  performance  of  the  Prayer-scene  from 
Romeo  e  Giulietta,  a  sure  test  and  touchstone  for  any  prima  donna; 
if  he  had  once  been  forced  to  acknowledge  the  superb  assurance  of 
Madame  Pasta's  portamento,  the  infinite  skill  and  subtlety  of  her 
glides,  the  unparalleled  artistry  with  which  she  can  inflect,  sustain  and 
smoothly  control  an  extended  vocal  phrase,  I  have  no  doubt  whatso 
ever  but  that  he  would  willingly  agree  to  sacrifice  at  least  part  of  his 
"system"  in  her  honour,  and  to  thin  out  the  tangled  undergrowth  of 
grace-notes  which  has  come  creeping  like  ivy  about  the  pure  lines  of 
his  melody. 

If  Rossini  were  once  fully  convinced  of  the  perfect  intelligence, 
moderation  and  good  taste,  of  which  Madame  Pasta  gives  ample 
evidence  in  her  ov/nfioriture;  if  he  could  once  grasp  the  principle  that 
no  ornamentation  is  so  sure  and  so  effective  as  that  which  springs 
from  the  spontaneous  invention  and  emotional  response  of  the 
singer,  I  cannot  see  how  he  could  fail  to  be  cured  of  his  apprehension, 
and  so  once  more  entrust  the  delicate  art  of  embellishment  to  the 
inspiration  of  this  truly  great  singer. 

The  few  genuine  lovers  of  music  who  frequent  the  Theatre  Louvois, 
not  because  it  is  fashionable  to  do  so,  but  because  they  are  capable  of 
being  profoundly  moved  by  the  art  which  they  find  there,  and  whom 


MADAME  PASTA  363 

I  credit  (with  a  trust  which  I  believe  to  be  not  misplaced)  with  being 
as  delicately  sensitive  to  every  distinct  manifestation  of  beauty  as 
they  are  to  every  prompting  of  noble  ambition,  might  well,  I  would 
suggest,  reflect  upon  what  they  would  feel  if,  suddenly,  after  the  long, 
barren  years  in  the  Assembly  when  nothing  has  echoed  from  the 
Speaker's  Tribune  save  the  dusty  squeakings  of  written  perorations, 
they  were  to  find  themselves  confronted  in  that  august  gathering  by 
some  new  Mirabeau,  some  second  General  Foy,  thundering  through 
the  halls  with  all  the  untrammelled  genius  of  improvisation  ...  What 
a  difference! — and  yet,  between  a  singer  straggling  as  best  she  can 
with  a  tangle  of  ornament  composed  for  someone  else,  with  a  score 
which  denies  her  every  scrap  of  liberty  and  every  fleeting  opportunity 
to  display  the  genius  of  her  own  inspiration;  between  a  singer  in  this 
grotesque  situation,  and  the  same  singer  basking  in  the  sweet  freedom 
of  a  cantilena  written  expressly  for  her  own  voice,  Le.9  not  only 
within  her  particular  compass,  but  also  within  the  range  of  her  own 
individual  palette  of  colours  and  her  own  pattern  of  virtuosity,  the 
difference  is  assuredly  no  less  striking! 

Out  of  all  the  operas  in  which  Madame  Pasta  has  sung  a  part  since 
she  came  to  Paris,  I  know  only  the  second  and  third  acts  of  Romeo  e 
Giulietta  which  are  in  the  slightest  degree  suited  to  the  characteristics 
of  her  voice  or  to  the  peculiarities  of  her  style.  If  I  were  to  go  through 
every  other  work  which  she  has  sung  since  she  has  been  with  us,  I 
doubt  if  I  should  find  as  many  as  three  solitary  arias  which  exactly 
fulfilled  all  the  conditions  which  are  essential  for  perfection;  and  yet, 
in  spite  of  this,  Madame  Pasta  has  cast  a  spell  upon  every  heart,  even 
through  the  medium  of  a  style  which  persistently  contradicts  the 
timbre  of  her  voice,  and  compels  her  into  feats  of  unnatural  acro 
batics.1  There  has  perhaps  never  been  such  another  singer,  who  has 
both  achieved,  and  deserved,  celebrity  under  such  impossible  condi 
tions.  And  now,  all  you  who  truly  love  music  in  aE  its  purity  and 
sweetness,  imagine  what  might  be,  if  a  Rossini  were  to  compose 
expressly  for  so  rare  a  spirit ! 

Only  if  and  when  such  a  miracle  were  achieved,  could  Madame 
Pasta's  fairest  gifts  receive  their  due  reward.  It  is  not  difficult  to  guess 

1  One  tour  deforce  of  this  type,  which  makes  music-lovers  gasp  with  astonish 
ment  every  time  it  is  repeated,  is  tier  ability  to  play  Tancred  one  night,  and 
Desdemona  three  nights  later. 


364  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

what  satisfaction  her  vanity  might  receive,  now  that  Paris  has  spread 
her  reputation  abroad  through  Europe,  if  she  were  to  tour  the  various 
stages  of  Italy.  If,  four  or  five  times  a  year,  she  were  to  sing  in  original 
works  specifically  composed  to  match  the  qualities  of  her  voice,  I  have 
not  the  slightest  doubt  that,  in  two  or  three  years'  time,  her  gifts 
would  appear  to  be  twice  as  splendid  as  they  are  now.  Her  reputation 
is  already  such,  that  it  needs  no  stretch  of  imagination  to  visualize 
the  alacrity  with  which  every  struggling  composer  in  the  land,  eager 
that  she  should  appear  in  his  opera,  and  so  lay  the  foundations  of  his 
renown,  would  lay  himself  out  to  please  her,  and  devote  his  whole 
life,  if  need  be,  to  studying  the  characteristics  of  her  voice  in  order  to 
match  them  in  his  own  music.1 

I  must  now  beg  my  reader  to  show  even  greater  patience  than  he 
has  done  already,  while  I,  for  my  part,  make  even  more  strenuous 
efforts  to  be  clear  and  lucid;  in  any  case,  I  promise  to  be  brief. 

Madame  Pasta's  voice  has  a  considerable  range.  She  can  achieve 
perfect  resonance  on  a  note  as  low  as  bottom  A,  and  can  rise  as  high 
as  Off,  or  even  to  a  slightly  sharpened  D;  and  she  possesses  the  rare 
ability  to  be  able  to  sing  contralto  as  easily  as  she  can  sing  soprano.2 
I  would  suggest,  in  spite  of  my  atrocious  lack  of  technical  knowledge, 
that  the  true  designation  of  her  voice  is  mezzo-soprano,  and  any 
composer  who  writes  for  her  should  use  the  mezzo-soprano  range  for 
the  thematic  material  of  his  music,  while  still  exploiting,  as  it  were 
incidentally  and  from  time  to  time,  notes  which  lie  within  the  more 
peripheral  areas  of  this  remarkably  rich  voice.  Many  notes  of  this 
last  category  are  not  only  extremely  fine  in  themselves,  but  have  the 
ability  to  produce  a  kind  of  resonant  and  magnetic  vibration,  which, 
through  some  still  unexplained  combination  of  physical  phenomena, 
exercises  an  instantaneous  and  hypnotic  effect  upon  the  soul  of  the 
spectator. 

This  leads  me  to  the  consideration  of  one  of  the  most  uncommon 
features  of  Madame  Pasta's  voice:  it  is  not  all  moulded  from  the  same 

1  I  would  like  to  prophesy  that  Madame  Pasta  is  destined  to  make  the  fortune 
of  that  composer,  whose  ascendant  star  is  fated  eventually  to  eclipse  the  glory  of 
Rossini.  She  is  nowhere  to  be  seen  at  better  advantage  than  in  the  simple  manner* ; 
and  simplicity  offers  the  key  to  any  rival  who  attempts  to  breach  the  stronghold  of 
the  glory  of  the  man  who  composed  Zelmira. 

2  An  ability  of  which  she  gave  ample  proof  by  singing,  not  only  the  part  of 
Tancred,  but  also  those  of  Curazio  (in  Cimarosa's  gli  Orazii  e  Curiazii),  Romeo 
and  Medea. 


MADAME  PASTA  365 

metallo,  as  they  would  say  in  Italy  (i.e.,  it  possesses  more  than  one 
timbre) ;  and  this  fundamental  variety  of  tone  produced  by  a  single 
voice  affords  one  of  the  richest  veins  of  musical  expression  which  the 
artistry  of  a  great  cantatrice  is  able  to  exploit. 

The  Italians  are  accustomed  to  describe  this  type  of  voice  by  saying 
that  it  has  several  different  registers,1  that  is  to  say,  several  dearly- 
distinguishable  physical  aspects,  varying  in  accordance  with  the  region 
of  the  scale  into  which  the  singer  chances  to  venture.  In  an  untrained 
voice,  which  possesses  neither  the  very  considerable  technique,  nor 
(more  important  still)  the  exquisite  sensibility  required  to  ensure  that 
a  correct  use  is  made  of  these  various  "registers",  the  result  is  simply 
one  of  roughness  and  inequality,  and  the  total  effect,  a  grating  dis 
cordance  whose  harshness  kills  every  atom  of  musical  enjoyment.  On 
the  other  hand,  Pacchiarotti,  la  Todi,  and  a  large  number  of  other 
outstanding  singers  of  the  old  school  long  ago  demonstrated  how 
easily  an  apparent  defect  might  be  transformed  into  a  source  of 
infinite  beauty,  and  how  it  might  be  used  to  bring  about  a  most 
fascinating  touch  of  originality.  In  fact,  the  history  of  the  art  might 
tend  to  suggest  that  it  is  not  the  perfectly  pure,  silvery  voice,  impec 
cably  accurate  in  tone  throughout  every  note  of  its  compass,  which 
lends  itself  to  the  greatest  achievements  of  impassioned  singing.  No 
voice  whose  timbre  is  completely  incapable  of  variation  can  ever 
produce  that  kind  of  opaque,  or  as  it  were,  suffocated  tone,  which  is  at 
once  so  moving  and  so  natural  in  the  portrayal  of  certain  instants  of 
violent  emotion  or  passionate  anguish. 

I  have  frequently  heard  it  asserted,  in  the  company  of  certain 

1  A  clarinet,  for  instance,  possesses  two  registers;  a  low  note  played  on  this 
instrument  seems  to  belong  to  a  different  tonal  family,  compared  with  a  high  note. 
For  the  sake  of  interest,  let  me  record  here  a  phenomenon  which  was  first 
observed  in  London  this  year:  a  high  note  on  a  clarinet  (or  on  a  piano)  leaves 
certain  wild  beasts,  such  as  lions,  tigers,  etc,,  completely  unmoved,  whereas  a  low 
note  on  the  same  instrument  will  instantly  set  them  all  roaring  with  fury.  In  the 
case  of  the  human  being,  I  suspect  that  precisely  the  opposite  is  more  likely  to  be 
the  case.  Perhaps  the  explanation  is  that  the  low  notes  resemble  animal-roarings, 
and  hence  suggest  a  challenge.  Compare  this  with  the  experiments  which  were 
carried  out  in  the  year  1 802  in  the  Jar  din  des  Plantes,  when  a  concert  was  given  to 
a  group  of  elephants.  I  do  not  know  whether  the  scientific  investigators  concerned 
had  sufficient  intelligence  to  record  the  results  of  this  experiment  in  language 
sufficiently  simple  for  a  layman  to  understand,  nor  whether  they  were  able  to 
resist  so  exquisite  an  opportunity  for  exhaling  clouds  of  pseudo-scientific  elo 
quence.  Scientists  are  terrible  people  whenever  they  start  showing  symptoms  of 
stylistic  ambition,  or  when,  at  the  end  of  infinite  vistas  of  magniloquent  prose, 
they  behold  the  coveted  image  of  an  Order  of  Merit. 


366  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

outstandingly  well-informed  and  enlightened  dilettanti,  who,  when  I 
lived  in  Trieste,  did  me  the  signal  honour  of  admitting  me  to  their 
gatherings,  that  la  Todi,1  one  of  the  last  representatives  of  the  Golden 
Age  of  singing,  possessed  a  voice  and  a  style  both  extraordinarily 
similar  to  those  of  Madame  Pasta. 

La  Todi's  rival,  la  Mara,  was  a  miracle  of  art  and  nature;  Gertrude 
Mara  was  not  only  endowed  with  an  unusually  lovely  and  molta 
bravura  (wonderfully  agile)  voice,  but  she  possessed  in  addition  an 
excellent  training  in  a  great  tradition  and  a  fine  range  of  expression. 
Nevertheless,  by  the  general  acclamation  of  all  true-born  lovers  of  the 
arts,  whose  opinions,  after  a  year  or  two,  invariably  become  those  of 
the  broader  public,  Signora  Todi  snatched  the  victory  when  it  lay 
almost  within  the  grasp  of  her  rival;  for  it  was  her  singing  which  had 
the  more  often  succeeded  in  recapturing  the  echo  of.  their  own 
emotions. 

Madame  Pasta's  incredible  mastery  of  technique  is  revealed  in  the 
amazing  facility  with  which  she  alternates  head-notes  with  chest- 
notes;  she  possesses  to  a  superlative  degree  the  art  of  producing  an 
immense  variety  of  charming  and  thrilling  effects  from  the  use  of 
both  voices.  To  heighten  the  tonal  colouring  of  a  melodic  phrase,  or 
to  pass  in  a  flash  from  one  ambiance  to  another  infinitely  removed 
from  it,  she  is  accustomed  to  use  &  falsetto  technique  covering  notes 
right  down  to  the  middle  of  her  normal  range;  or  else  she  may 
unconcernedly  alternate  falsetto  notes  with  ordinary  chest-notes.  In 
all  such  displays  of  virtuosity,  she  apparently  finds  as  little  difficulty 
in  securing  a  smooth  transition  between  the  two  voices  when  she  is 
employing  notes  in  the  middle  of  her  normal  chest-range,  as  she  does 
when  she  is  using  the  highest  notes  which  she  can  produce. 

The  characteristics  of  Madame  Pasta's  head-notes  are  almost  dia- 

1  Luiza  Todi  was  singing  in  Venice  in  1795  or  1796,  and  in  Paris  in  1799.  Some 
people,  as  you  must  know  only  too  well,  are  determined  to  insist  that  the  most 
modern  music  is  invariably  the  best  music;  and,  as  far  as  orchestral  music  is 
concerned,  there  is  considerable  diversity  of  opinion  as  to  which  of  the  various 
epochs  of  the  last  century  produced  the  finest  work.  By  contrast,  in  the  domain  of 
vocal  music,  there  is  general  agreement  that  the  period  between  1730  and  1780 
represented  the  Golden  Age.  By  the  end  of  the  XVIHth  century,  however,  the  few 
survivors  who  still  treasured  the  secrets  of  this  wonderful  art  were  already  very 
old.  To-day,  the  world  of  singing  knows  a  fair  number  of  fine  voices,  and  perhaps 
five  or  six  artists  who  have  a  really  profound  mastery  of  technique:  Velluti,  la 
Pasta,  Davide,  la  Pisaroni,  Madame  Belloc,  and  a  few  others.  Their  taste  is 
probably  purer  and  less  extravagant  than  that  of  the  great  soprani  who  flourished 
circa  1 770,  but  their  technique  is  probably  inferior. 


MADAME  PASTA  367 

metrically  opposed  to  the  characteristics  of  her  chest-notes;  her 
falsetto  is  brilliant,  rapid,  pure,  fluent  and  enchantingly  light.  As  she 
approaches  the  lower  part  of  this  falsetto  register,  she  can  smorzare 
il  canto  (diminish  her  tone)  to  a  point  where  the  very  fact  of  the  exist 
ence  of  sound  becomes  uncertain. 

Without  such  a  palette  of  breath-taking  colour  deep  within  her 
own  being,  and  without  such  an  extraordinary  and  compelling 
natural  gift,  Madame  Pasta  could  never  have  achieved  the  over 
mastering  force  of  natural  expression  which  we  have  leamt  to  associ 
ate  with  her — a  miracle  of  emotional  revelation,  which  is  always  true 
to  nature,  and,  although  tempered  by  the  intrinsic  laws  of  ideal 
Beauty,'1  always  alive  with  that  unmistakable,  burning  energy,  that 
extraordinary  dynamism  which  can  electrify  an  entire  theatre.  But 
think  how  much  pure  artistry,  and  how  much  discipline  and  training 
has  been  necessary  before  this  enthralling  singer  learned  to  harness 
the  restive  secrets  of  weaving  such  divine  enchantments  out  of  two 
different  and  utterly  contrasting  voices. 

Her  art  appears  to  be  infinitely  perfectible;  its  miracles  grow  daily 
more  astonishing,  and  nothing  can  henceforth  stop  its  power  over  the 
audience  from  growing  progressively  more  binding.  Madame  Pasta 
long  ago  overcame  the  last  of  the  physical  obstacles  which  stood  in 
the  way  of  the  realization  of  pure  musical  enjoyment;  and  her  voice 
to-day  is  as  fascinating  to  the  listener's  ear  as  it  is  electrifying  to  Ms 
soul.  Each  new  opera  in  which  she  appears  fires  her  audience  with 
feelings  of  ever-deepening  intensity,  or  surprises  them  with  new  and 
strange  aspects  of  a  familiar  delight.  She  possesses  the  great  secret  of 
imprinting  a  fresh  pattern  of  colour  upon  old  music,  not  through  the 
medium  of  the  words,  or  thanks  to  her  genius  as  a  great  tragic 
actress,  but  purely  and  simply  as  a  singer;  and  thus  she  is  able  to 
transmute  a  role  (such  as  that  of  Elcia  in  Mose)>  which  might  seem 
comparatively  insignificant,  into  a  thing  of  new  and  splendid  beauty.2 

However,  Madame  Pasta,  like  every  other  singer  without  excep 
tion,  occasionally  comes  across  certain  technical  awkwardnesses, 
certain  peculiar  contortions  of  the  voice,  which  she  is  physically 
incapable  of  mastering,  or  at  least,  which  can  only  be  mastered  with 

1  This  unusual  pacatezza  [sedateness]  of  voice  and  gesture  serves  to  distinguish 
Madame  Pasta  from  every  otter  great prime  donna  whom  I  have  ever  seen. 

2  Madame  Pasta's  singing-master,  Signer  Scappa,  of  Milan,  is  at  present  in 
London,  where  his  method  is  achieving  uncommon  popularity. 


368  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

such  difficulty  that  it  is  invariably  at  the  expense  of  that  miraculous 
faculty— normally  such  an  integral  part  of  her  artistry—for  entranc 
ing  the  ear  with  the  sheer  delight  of  music,  and  for  stirring  and  be 
witching  the  soul  through  the  sensual  pleasures  of  sound.  These 
occasions,  rare  as  they  are,  turn  our  impatient  imagination  with  ever 
greater  longing  towards  the  day  when  we  shall  hear  her,  were  it  but 
once,  in  an  opera  composed  expressly  for  her  own  voice. 

I  think  that  I  should  despair  of  ever  succeeding,  were  I  obliged  to 
describe  one  single  embellishment  normally  used  by  Madame  Pasta 
which  is  not  a  monument  of  classical  grace  and  style,  or  which  is  unfit 
to  stand  as  a  model  of  unrivalled  perfection.  Extremely  restrained  in 
her  use  offioriture,  she  resorts  to  them  only  when  they  have  a  direct 
contribution  to  make  to  the  dramatic  expressiveness  of  the  music; 
and  it  is  worth  noting  that  none  of  htrfioriture  are  retained  for  a 
single  instant  after  they  have  ceased  to  be  useful.  I  have  never  known 
her  guilty  of  those  interminable  frescoes  of  ornamentation  which 
seem  to  remind  one  of  some  irrepressible  talker  in  a  fit  of  absent- 
mindedness,  and  during  which  one  suspects  that  the  singer's  atten 
tion  has  wandered  far  out  into  vacancy,  or  else  that  he  had  started 
out  with  one  intention,  only  to  change  his  mind  upon  the  subject 
half-way  through.  I  leave  my  reader  to  supply  the  name  of  this  or  that 
popular  singer,  who  is  only  too  liable  to  fall  headlong  into  traps  of 
this  kind  (which,  incidentally,  can  be  more  than  a  little  amusing  to 
the  cynical  observer) ;  I  should  be  rather  sorry  to  spoil  the  enjoyment 
of  certain  half-baked  enthusiasts,  who,  I  notice,  usually  applaud  this 
sort  of  nonsense  to  the  very  skies!  Not  infrequently,  a  gorgheggio 
will  begin  lightly,  rapidly,  and  in  a  style  reminiscent  of  the  purest 
farce  traditions,  only  to  tail  off  on  to  a  note  of  tragedy,  or  to  immerse 
itself  in  a  fog  of  impassioned  and  unmitigated  gloom;  or  else,  the 
singer,  after  having  opened  in  a  strain  of  severe  and  unimpeachable 
gravity,  will  proceed  to  discover  half-way  through  that  his  inspiration 
has  dried  up,  and  so  will  make  a  wild  and  desperate  plunge  into  the 
nonsensicalities  of  opera  buffa.  Clearly,  only  a  singer  whose  soul  is 
utterly  insensitive  to  the  art  which  he  is  supposed  to  practise  could 
be  guilty  of  such  atrocities;  but  his  insensibility  is  no  worse  than  that 
of  the  spectator  who  cannot  see  their  absurdity.  I  know  of  no  better 
test  than  this  for  detecting  the  enthusiast  whose  taste  has  been 
learned  by  rote  from  the  text-books  of  the  Academic.  Every  time  I 


MADAME  PASTA  369 

hear  gorgheggi  of  this  type  being  applauded,  say,  in  la  Gazza  Mm, 
I  am  reminded  of  the  well-known  anecdote  concerning  a  certain 
popular  Minister-of-State,  who,  being  closeted  with  the  King  in  Ms 
work-cabinet  for  a  whole  hour,  spent  the  entire  time  reading  him  an 
interminable  report  on  the  prerogatives  of  his  office;  the  King  seemed 
unduly  delighted  with  this  report,  which,  in  all  conscience,  could 
scarcely  be  called  entertaining;  but  the  fact  was  simply  that  the  noble 
Lord  in  question  was  holding  his  document  upside-down,  and  thus 
had  proved  conclusively  that  he  did  not  know  how  to  read.  I  feel  that 
this  little  story  is  symbolic  of  the  type  of  dilettante  whose  enthusiasm 
knows  no  bounds  and  whose  praise  is  unsparing  for  an  embellishment 
whose  two  halves  are  mutually  contradictory,  and  which  starts  off 
by  proclaiming  white,  only  to  finish  up  by  shouting  blackl  The 
dramatic  situation  may  be  either  tragic  or  comic,  but  it  cannot 
reasonably  be  both;  and  so,  in  either  case,  the  applause  is  equally 
absurd. 

Where  should  I  find  words  adequate  to  describe  the  visions  of 
celestial  beauty  which  spread  before  us  in  dazzling  glory  when 
Madame  Pasta  sings,  or  the  strange  glimpses  into  the  secrets  of 
sublime  and  fantastic  passions  which  her  art  affords  us?  Ineffable 
mysteries,  dreams  which  lie  beyond  the  powers  of  poetry,  vistas 
unknown,  unfathomable,  deep-hidden  in  the  recesses  of  the  human 
heart,  which  no  mere  Canova  with  Ms  sculptor's  chisel,  no  mere 
Correggio  with  his  painter's  brash,  could  hope  to  reveal  to  our 
enquiring  souls!  Who  could  recall  without  a  shudder  that  terrible 
instant  when  Medea  draws  her  children  towards  her,  while  her  hand 
feels  for  the  dagger  ...  and  then  pushes  them  away,  as  though  shaken 
by  some  invisible  tempest  of  remorse?  The  suggestion  is  so  subtle,  so 
delicate,  that  it  would  cause  even  the  greatest  of  writers,  I  feel,  to 
despair  of  the  crudity  of  his  own  medium ! 

Or  should  I  remind  you  of  the  great  reconciliation-scene  between 
Enrico  and  his  friend  Vanoldo,  in  the  famous  duet: 

E  deserto  il  bosco  intorno  ..-1 

1  The  surrounding  wood  is  deserted.  ...  From  Mayer's  la  Rosa  Manca,  as  per 
formed  during  the  evening  of  the  second  of  October,  1823.  Never  before,  perhaps, 
has  the  singing  of  Madame  Pasta  seemed  more  divinely  inspired.  Incidentally,  in 
this  version  of  la  Rasa  bianca,  I  recognized  several  embellishments  borrowed 
from  Desdemona's  Prayer-scene. 


370  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

and  the  superb  artistry  which  introduces  the  theme  and  leads  to  the 
climax  of  Enrico's  forgiveness: 

Ah!  chipuo  mirarla  in  volto 
E  non  ardere  d'amor?1 

In  every  role  which  Madame  Pasta  has  sung,  there  are  at  least  ten 
passages  which  I  should  like  to  analyse.  For  instance,  the  twelve  bars 
in  Tancredi,  which  she  sings  after  the  death  of  Orbassano,  when  she 
appears  mounted  in  her  chariot,  are  musically  nondescript;  and  yet, 
what  subtlety  in  the  interpretation!  What  a  miracle  of  art,  that  can 
make  this  music  different  from  any  other  that  has  ever  been!  How 
clearly  one  feels  the  melancholy  stillness  in  the  aftermath  of  a  victory 
which  holds  no  pleasure  for  Tancred,  since  the  innocence  of  Amen- 
aida  is  still  unvindicatedl  What  a  wealth  of  tragic  lucidity  in  the  per 
ception  of  the  sudden  loss  of  that  fierce,  that  unrelenting  urge  to  live, 
which  had  sustained  the  young  warrior  before  the  battle,  when  the 
need  to  save  Amenaida  was  a  burning  fire  in  his  breast,  and  when  the 
smallest  uncertainty  of  victory  was  enough  to  blind  him  to  the  full 
horror  of  his  fate! 

Madame  Pasta  may  indeed  sing  the  same  note  in  two  different 
scenes;  but,  if  the  spiritual  context  is  different,  it  will  not  be  the  same 
sound. 

These  are  the  sublimest  heights  to  which  the  art  of  singing  can 
attain.  I  have  seen  perhaps  thirty  performances  of  Tancredi;  but 
Madame  Pasta's  musical  intonation  is  always  moulded  so  closely 
upon  the  momentary  inspirations  of  her  heart,  that  I  may  claim  to 
have  heard  the  aria: 

Tremor  Tancredi ... 

for  instance,  sung  on  some  occasions  with  an  inflexion  of  gentle 
irony;  on  others,  with  a  manly  intonation  of  courage,  with  the 
intrepid  accents  of  a  hero  assuring  his  followers  that  there  is  nothing 
to  fear,  and  strengthening  the  uncertain  heart  of  timidity;  on  other 
occasions  still,  with  an  air  of  disagreeable  surprise  already  tinged 
with  resentment ...  and  then,  suddenly,  Tancred  remembers  that  it  is 
his  beloved  Amenaida  who  is  speaking,  and  the  first  growlings  of  the 
storm  of  anger  vanish  into  the  smiling  sunlight  of  reconciliation. 
1  Ah!  Who  can  gaze  into  her  face,  and  not  burn  with  love? 


MADAME  PASTA  371 

There  is  no  language  in  the  world  which  can  render  all  the  shades 
and  subtleties  of 'music ;  and  so,  as  the  reader  will  have  observed,  I  am 
trying  to  prove  their  real  existence  by  describing  the  nuances  of  the 
acting — a  cradish  process,  but  one  which  has  the  advantage  of  re 
placing  the  seven  or  eight  pages  of  close  writing,  into  which  I  had 
originally  tried  (unsuccessfully)  to  condense  my  remarks  upon  three 
particular  nuances  in  the  interpretation  of  the  part  of  Tancred,  as  it 
was  varied  from  performance  to  performance.  Anybody  who  pos 
sessed  the  patience  to  read  those  eight  pages  would  certainly  be  the 
kind  of  person  who  could  appreciate  the  nuances  for  himself— and 
probably  many  others  besides,  which  I  have  overlooked.  So  at  least, 
as  it  now  stands,  this  book  will  contain  that  many  fewer  exaggera 
tions  to  provoke  the  ribaldry  of  the  philistines. 

A  shade,  a  delicate  suggestion  of  colour  or  feeling,  belonging  to  the 
type  which  I  have  just  been  describing,  and  varying,  as  happens  when 
the  interpreter  is  Madame  Pasta,  from  one  performance  of  Tancredi 
to  the  next  ...  this  is  an  exact  instance  of  that  kind  of  microscopic 
detail  which  no  composer  can  ever  fully  transcribe  into  his  score. 
And  even  if  he  should  attempt  to  do  so,  as  Rossini  has  been  attempt 
ing  ever  since  1815,  the  year  which  marks  the  beginning  of  his 
"Neapolitan  period",  it  will  be  glaringly  obvious  that  no  specific 
mordente,  no  particular  embellishment,  however  excellent  per  se9  can 
be  guaranteed  to  match  the  voice  and  the  mood  of  any  given  canta- 
trice  on  any  given  evening — the  30th  of  September,  to  take  a  date  at 
random.  This  being  so,  it  is  flatly  impossible  for  the  singer  in  question 
to  stir  her  audience  to  the  most  hidden  recesses  of  their  souls  on  the 
evening  of  the  30th  of  September  by  means  of  this  particular 
ornament.1 

The  philistine  section  of  the  audience,  faced  with  any  given  passage, 
demands  primarily  the  ornamentation  which  it  has  grown  to  expect; 
and  provided  that  its  taste  is  gratified  in  this  direction,  it  will  applaud 

1  The  genuinely  impassioned  lover  may  often  speak  a  language  which  he 
scarcely  understands  himself;  there  Is  an  intercourse  of  the  spirit  which  transcends 
the  narrow  physical  limitations  of  vocabulary.  I  might  suggest  that  the  art  of 
singing  shares  this  mysterious  and  inexplicable  transcendentalism;  but  just  as,  in 
love,  artificiality  is  repulsive,  similarly  in  music,  the  voice  must  be  allowed  to  be 
natural— -that  is  to  say,  it  should  be  allowed  to  sing  melodies  which  have  been 
especially  written  for  it,  in  whose  company  it  can  feel  at  home,  and  of  whose 
enchantment  the  singer  herself,  deep  within  her  being,  may  be  spontaneously 
aware  at  die  very  instant  when  she  sings. 


372  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

the  interpretation,  no  matter  how  appalling.  But  I  am  not  concerned 
with  such  people,  nor  is  this  book  addressed  to  them.1  For  I  am 
persuaded  that  even  outside  Italy,  yes,  even  in  countries  where  it  is 
normal  to  sing  out  of  tune  in  church,  there  must  exist  small  groups 
of  genuine  music-lovers,  whose  sensibility  is  sufficiently  delicate  (if  I 
may  risk  the  comparison)  to  act  as  a  kind  of  microscope,  through 
which  they  may  detect  and  observe  the  most  infinitesimal  nuances 
in  the  art  of  singing.  To  persons  such  as  these,  I  need  make  no 
apology  for  my  own  extravagant  enthusiasms.  And  yet,  I  should 
have  to  devote  many  pages  to  the  subject,  if  I  were  to  analyse  every 
one  of  Madame  Pasta's  creations — and  by  creations,  I  mean  certain 
individual  means  of  expression,  which  are  of  her  own  invention,  and 
which,  I  would  be  prepared  to  swear,  the  composer  who  wrote  the 
notes  of  her  part  never  so  much  as  contemplated. 

A  first  example  which  I  might  quote  is  the  evocative  stress  which 
she  embodies  in  the  line: 

Avro  contento  il  cor  ...2 

from  Romeo's  aria:  ombra  adorata  aspetta ...,  and  the  slightly 
increased  tempo  of  the  cantilena  which  follows.3  There  is  a  similarly 
exquisite  invention  in  the  way  in  which  the  preceding  lines  in  the 
same  scene  are  inflected: 

lo  ti  sento,  mi  chiami 

A  seguirtifra  T  ombre  ...  etc.41 

Any  of  the  regular  habitues  of  the  Theatre  Louvois  will  recall  the 
evening  when  Madame  Pasta  first  ventured  to  use  these  extra 
ordinarily  original  variants  in  her  interpretation,  and  the  kind  of 

1  Vide:  le  Corsaire,  3rd  October  1823. 

2  My  heart  will  be  full  of  happiness  ... 

3  This  is  one  of  those  typical  and  perfectly  legitimate  "stratagems"  which  the 
singer  is  quite  entitled  to  employ,  but  which  the  insensitive  and  academic  rigidity 
of  the  Louvois  orchestra  treats  with  such  cruel  and  cynical  indifference.  The 
players  in  this  orchestra  all  possess  a  degree  of  technical  ability  a  hundred  times 
greater  than  that  of  the  average  Italian  musician  in  1780;  but  the  orchestra  as  a 
whole  would  have  effectively  stifled  every  spark  of  genius  in  a  Marchesi  or  a 
Pacchiarotti,  and  it  will  continue  to  thwart  and  hinder  every  great  singer  whom 
Paris  may  produce.  And  if  the  singers  should  be  rash  enough  to  show  themselves 
intimidated  by  the  only  too  undeniable  erudition  of  our  instrumentalists,  there  is 
the  most  pressing  danger  that  we  shall  never  witness  true  bel  canto,  with  its 
miraculous  gift  of  improvization. 

4  I  hear  you,  you  call  me  to  follow  you  amidst  the  shades  ... 


MADAME  PASTA  373 

electric  shock,  infinitely  more  flattering  than  any  mere  applause,1 
which  ran  instantaneously  round  the  auditorium;  and  yet,  at  any  one 
of  the  twenty  or  thirty  performances  of  the  same  opera  which  had 
been  given  earlier,  the  audience  might  have  sworn  that  this  admirable 
prhna  donna  had  already  carried  her  part  to  a  height  of  unsurpassable 
perfection. 

Later,  during  the  course  of  the  same  evening,  Madame  Pasta 
enthralled  us  still  further  by  displaying  the  prodigious  contrast  of 
her  two  voices;  and  it  was  on  this  occasion  that  a  friend  of  mine,  a 
charming  young  Neapolitan  with  a  wide  reputation  as  a  connoisseur 
of  music  and  a  wider  one  still  as  an  enchanting  lover,  spoke  to  me  in 
a  tone  of  such  burning  enthusiasm  that  I  would  give  everything  that  I 
possess  in  the  world  to  be  able  to  reproduce  it  here  in  cold  print: 

This  wondrous  voice,  with  its  swift  succession  of  tones  which  shift 
like  shadow  chasing  sunlight,  seems  to  distil  a  rare  quintessence  of 
delight  and  memory,  conjuring  up  the  half-forgotten  softness  of  the 
night  in  our  unhappy  land — of  those  pure,  crystalline  nights,  when  the 
pattern  of  stars  lay  like  a  silver  web  across  the  deepest  blue  of  the  sky, 
when  the  moonlight  fell  in  shafts  of  silence,  haunting  the  quiet  of  that 
enchanted  landscape  which  lay  in  stillness  spread  across  the  banks  of  the 
Mergellina  ...the  Mergellina,  which  I  shall  never  see  again!  Lost  in  the 
infinity  of  distance  lies  Capri,  alone  and  islanded  in  its  silver  sea,  whose 
waves  move  softly  at  the  cool  beckoning  of  the  night-wind.  And  then, 
imperceptibly,  gently,  a  diaphanous  mist  begins  to  steal  across  the 
Huntress  of  the  Night;  an  instant,  and  her  light  falls  more  tenderly, 
more  caressingly;  nature,  half-darkened,  stirs  the  spirit  more  deeply, 
and  wakes  a  strange  awareness  in  the  souls  of  men.  But  wait ...  behold! 
Purer,  brighter  than  ever  in  her  naked  loneliness,  Diana  stands  forth 
again  in  the  Heavens,  and  the  shores  of  Italy  lie  bathed  once  more  in  the 
living  innocence  of  her  silver-silent  light.  Thus  with  Madame  Pasta: 
her  voice,  changing  from  register  to  register,  inspires  in  me  the  same 
sensation  as  this  memory  of  moonlight,  veiled  an  instant,  darker,  softer, 
more  entrancing  ...  then  shining  forth  anew,  a  silver  shower  a  thousand 
fold  increased* 

Or  again,  think  how,  at  sunset,  as  the  day-star  sinks  to  rest  behind 

1  Any  fool  can  applaud  with  the  rest;  but  to  be  spell-bound,  one  must  possess  a 
soul.  This  is  rare. 

2  There  is  only  one  rational  standard  by  which  ideal  beauty  may  be  assessed  in 
any  art:  the  intensity  of  emotion  in  the  beholder. 


374  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

Posilippo,  our  hearts  seem  to  yield  insensibly  to  sadness,  and  to  be 
borne  away  upon  a  gentle  tide  of  melancholy  ;  a  strange,  inexpressible 
seriousness  steals  over  our  minds,  and  the  harmony  of  our  souls  longs  to 
be  at  peace  with  the  still  sadness  of  the  evening.  Likewise,  just  now, 
when  Madame  Pasta  sang  the  phrase: 

Ultimo  pianto  ... I 

I  experienced  the  same  emotion,  with  this  difference  only,  that  the 
transition  was  perhaps  a  little  more  rapid.  It  is  the  same  feeling  as  that 
which  clutches  at  my  heart,  but  more  persistently  in  the  reality  of  life, 
when  the  first  chill  days  of  September  steal  across  the  traces  of 
summer,  and  a  light  mist  hovering  about  the  tree-tops  heralds  the 
approach  of  winter  and  the  death  of  nature's  loveliness. 

As  we  leave  the  theatre  after  a  performance  during  which  Madame 
Pasta  has  held  us  spell-bound  ever  since  the  first  curtain,  our  whole 
being  is  filled,  to  the  exclusion  of  all  else,  with  the  deep  and  boundless 
emotions  which  her  voice  has  called  up  in  the  recesses  of  our  soul  It 
would  be  useless  to  attempt  a  more  specific  analysis  of  a  type  of 
sensation  which  is  at  once  so  profound  and  so  extraordinary.  There 
seems  to  be  nothing  tangible  to  analyse,  to  pin  one's  admiration 
upon.  The  timbre  of  Madame  Pasta's  voice  is  not  in  itself  superla 
tively  brilliant;  her  technique  and  control  hold  nothing  astonishing; 
the  range  which  she  commands  is  by  no  means  abnormal;  her  secret 
lies  wholly  in  her  deep  and  passionate  sincerity, 

//  canto  che  nelV  anima  si  sente* 

which,  in  the  short  space  of  a  couple  of  bars,  can  enthral  and  fasci 
nate  the  wariest  spectator— provided  only  (be  it  but  once  in  all  his 
life)  he  shall  have  wept  for  something  other  than  money  or  Orders  of 
Merit. 

I  could  enumerate  a  longish  catalogue  of  all  the  physical  obstacles 
which  nature  had  set  in  the  path  of  Madame  Pasta,  and  which  she  has 
had  to  overcome  before  she  could  learn  the  secret  of  communicating 
with  that  great  collective  spirit,  the  audience,  and  of  electrifying  it 
through  the  medium  of  her  voice.  Every  day  brings  her  some  new 
triumph,  and  sees  her  a  step  further  along  the  road  to  perfection;  and 
every  one  of  these  steps  is  marked  by  one  or  another  of  those  little, 

1  Final  lamentation  ...  2  The  melody  which  echoes  in  the  soul. 


MADAME   PASTA  375 

individual  "creations",  of  wHch  I  spoke  earlier.  Incidentally,  I  did 
once  ask  a  knowledgeable  musician  to  dictate  to  me  a  list  of  her 
achievements;  but  I  have  decided  finally  to  omit  it,  since  the  average 
reader,  unless  he  chance  to  have  had  a  technical  training  In  the  theory 
of  music,  would  never  understand  a  word  of  it.  My  subject  is  beauty, 
and  it  is  as  a  painter,  not  as  an  anatomist,  that  I  intend  to  discuss  it, 
if  I  can;  and  in  any  case,  I,  who  am  ignorant,  have  no  pretensions  to 
indoctrinate  the  learned. 

People  have  frequently  sounded  Madame  Pasta's  friends  as  to  who 
taught  her  her  craft  as  an  actress.  The  answer  is — no  onel  The  only 
instruction  which  she  has  ever  received  has  come  straight  from  her 
own  heart,  from  her  own  acutely  sensitive  reactions  to  the  most  deli 
cate  nuances  of  human  passions,  and  from  her  admiration,  so  bound 
less  as  to  verge  upon  the  limits  of  absurdity,  for  ideal  beauty.  Once, 
in  Trieste,  while  she  was  walking  beside  the  harbour  with  a  company 
of  friends,  a  little  three-year-old  beggar-boy  came  up  to  her  and 
asked  for  alms  on  behalf  of  his  blind  mother;  she  burst  into  tears  and 
gave  him  all  she  had.  Her  friends,  who  had  witnessed  this  incident, 
immediately  began  to  speak  of  her  virtue,  her  charitableness  and  the 
compassion  of  her  heart.  But  she  merely  wiped  away  her  tears  and 
turned  on  them  angrily:  "I  refuse  to  accept  your  commendation!" 
she  exclaimed.  "And  I  am  not  virtuous!  But  when  that  child  came 
begging  to  me,  he  begged  like  a  great  artist.  In  a  flash,  I  could  see  in 
his  gesture  all  the  despair  of  his  mother,  all  the  poverty  of  their  home, 
the  clothes  which  they  need  and  the  biting  cold  which  is  their  relent 
less  enemy.  If,  when  the  scene  called  for  it,  /  could  discover  a  gesture 
so  faithfully  portraying  every  suggestion  of  indescribable  misery,  I 
should  be  a  very  great  actress  indeed." 

I  suspect  that  Madame  Pasta's  genius  as  a  tragic  actress  is  made  up 
of  a  thousand-and-one  little  casual  observations  of  the  kind  which  I 
have  just  recorded,  modelled  upon  a  series  of  tiny  incidents  which  she 
has  been  gathering  since  the  age  of  six,  remembering  them  with  vivid 
distinctness,  and  using  them  on  the  stage  when  the  occasion  demands. 
But  I  have  also  heard  Madame  Pasta  remark  that  she  owes  an  incal 
culable  debt  to  de*  Marini,  one  of  the  greatest  actors  of  the  Italian 
school,  and  to  the  brilliant  Signorina  Pallerini*,  the  actress  who  was 
specially  trained  by  Vigano  to  play  the  parts  of  Myrrha,  Desdemona 
and  the  Vestal  Virgin  in  the  ballets  which  he  himself  had  created. 


376  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

As  a  singer,  Madame  Pasta  is  too  young  to  have  heard  Signora 
Todi  on  the  stage;  nor  can  she  have  heard  Pacchiarotti,  Marchesi  or 
Crescentini;  nor,  as  far  as  I  can  discover,  did  she  ever  have  occasion 
to  hear  them  later,  after  their  retirement,  in  private  performances  or 
at  concerts;  yet  every  connoisseur  who  ever  heard  these  great  repre 
sentatives  of  the  Golden  Age  voices  the  general  opinion  that  she 
appears  to  have  inherited  their  style.  The  only  teacher  from  whom 
she  has  received  singing-lessons  is  Signora  Grassini,  with  whom  she 
once  spent  a  season  in  Brescia.1 

1  There  is  an  interesting  passage  concerning  Signora  Grassini  to  be  found  in 
Las  Cases'  Memorial  de  Sainte  Helene  (Vol.  IV).  Incidentally,  no  less  recently  than 
yesterday,  I  was  privileged  to  look  at  a  set  of  twelve  incredibly  passionate  love- 
letters,  in  the  handwriting  of  Napoleon  himself,  and  addressed  to  Josephine;  one 
at  least  dates  from  before  their  marriage.  There  is  a  passage,  referring  to  the  death 
of  a  certain  Monsieur  Chauvel,  who  appears  to  have  been  a  close  friend  of 
Napoleon,  which  contains  a  most  curious  tirade  upon  the  subject  of  death, 
immortality,  etc.^  quite  worthy  of  Plato,  or  even  of  Werther!  Several  of  these 
intimately  passionate  letters  are  written  on  vast  sheets  of  official  note-paper, 
headed  with  the  device  Liberte,  Egalit£,  like  a  state  document.  Napoleon  shows 
complete  lack  of  interest  in  his  own  victories;  but,  in  revenge,  a  passionate  anxiety 
over  the  possibility  of  any  serious  rivals  for  Josephine's  favours.  "If  you  must 
love  them,  you  must!**  he  writes  on  one  occasion,  "But  you  will  never  find  one  of 
them  to  love  you  as  /have  loved  you!"  After  which,  he  adds:  "We  had  a  battle, 
both  yesterday  and  to-day.  I  got  better  sport  out  of  Beaulieu  [the  Austrian  gen 
eral]  than  out  of  the  rest,  but  I  intend  to  beat  him  hollow  all  the  same !"  I  am  very 
much  afraid,  however,  that  after  the  death  of  M.  le  Comte  de  B***,  this  precious 
set  of  twelve  letters  is  liable  to  go  to  settle  the  grocer's  bill. 


i 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 
La  Donna  del  Lago 


.T  may  be  asserted  that,  after  Elisabetta,  Rossini's  work  in  Naples 
owed  its  success  exclusively  to  his  own  individual  genius.  In  the  eyes 
of  the  general  public,  his  principal  claim  to  distinction  lay  in  the  fact 
that  his  style  was  a  veritable  revelation,  at  least  compared  with  that 
of  Mayer  and  of  the  various  other  academic  and  uninspired  com 
posers  who  had  been  his  forerunners.  Moreover,  Rossini  had  intro 
duced  a  hitherto  unsuspected  dynamic  force  into  the  supremely 
boring  convention  of  the  opera  seria.  It  is  quite  possible,  however, 
that  his  besetting  laziness  would  have  tempted  him  to  sit  back  and 
rest  on  his  laurels,  had  it  not  been  for  the  implacable  hostility  shown 
by  the  public  towards  Barbaja  and  everything  connected  with  his 
organization.  But  Rossini  could  not  bear  failure,  and  I  have  seen  him 
physically  ill  when  one  of  Ms  works  was  whistled  off  the  stage.  (This 
is  saying  a  great  deal,  in  respect  of  a  man  whose  outward  bearing  is 
one  of  supreme  indifference,  and  who,  furthermore,  is*unshakeably 
convinced  of  his  own  merit.)  The  actual  occasion  arose  during  the 
premiere  of  la  Donna  del  Lago,  an  opera  based  on  a  bad  poem  by 
Walter  Scott. 

In  this  instance,  the  initial  reaction  to  the  performance  was  one  of 
delight.  The  decor  of  the  opening  scene  showed  a  wild  and  lonely  loch 
in  the  Highlands  of  Scotland,  upon  whose  waters,  the  Lady  of  the 
Lake,  faithful  to  her  name,  was  seen  gliding  gracefully  along,  upright 
beside  the  helm  of  a  small  boat  This  set  was  a  masterpiece  of  the  art 
of  stage-design.  The  mind  turned  instantly  towards  Scotland,  and 
waited  expectantly  for  the  magic  of  some  Ossianic  adventure. 
Signorina  Colbran,  who  contrived  to  display  considerable  grace  at 
the  tiller  of  her  skiff,  managed  to  put  up  quite  a  creditable  perform 
ance  in  her  opening  ana,  and  the  audience,  which  was  bursting  for  an 
opportunity  to  create  an  uproar,  was  grievously  disappointed.  The 
next  number,  a  duet  with  Davide,  was  sung  with  some  skill,  and  even 
beauty.  But  at  last  came  the  moment  of  Nozzari's  entrance;  he  was 


378  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

required  to  come  on  at  the  very  back  of  the  stage;  and  the  back-drop 
on  that  particular  evening,  was  separated  from  the  footlights  by  an 
absolutely  prodigious  distance.  His  part  began  with  a  portamento; 
and,  as  he  opened  his  mouth  to  deliver  a  bellow  of  sustained  sound, 
the  effect  was  magnificent,  and  the  echoes  could  have  been  heard 
right  outside  in  the  via  Toledo.  Unfortunately,  however,  since  he  was 
at  the  back  of  the  stage,  and  the  orchestra  was  in  the  front,  he  could 
not  hear  the  instruments ;  and  so  his  glorious  portamento  just  fell 
about  a  quarter  of  a  tone  below  the  required  pitch.  At  this  unhoped 
for  chance  to  storm  the  stage  with  wild  derision,  the  whole  audience 
went  mad  as  hatters,  and  the  yell  of  malicious  glee  which  ascended 
from  the  pit  is  still  ringing  in  my  ears ! — a  cage-full  of  roaring  and 
ravenous  lions,  and  the  doors  flung  open! — -Aeolus  unleashing  the 
fury  of  the  winds!  ...  nothing  can  give  the  least,  the  sketchiest  idea  of 
the  rage  of  a  Neapolitan  audience  insulted  by  a  wrong  note,  and  so 
given  the  chance  to  work  off  a  long-standing  score  of  accumulated 
hatred! 

Nozzari's  aria  was  followed  by  the  entry  of  a  group  of  bards,  who 
had  come  to  infuse  some  military  ardour  into  the  Scottish  army  on 
its  way  to  the  battlefield.  Rossini  had  had  the  idea  of  trying  to  rival 
the  ball-scene  from  Don  Giovanni,  with  its  three  orchestras,  and  so  he 
had  divided  his  orchestral  resources  into  two  sections,  viz.,  an  accom 
panied  chorus  of  bards  on  the  one  hand,  and,  on  the  other,  a  military 
march  with  trumpets;  and  these  two  different  musical  effects,  after 
each  has  been  first  heard  separately,  come  together  and  are  heard 
simultaneously.1  Now  it  happened  that  this  particular  day  (4th 
October  1819*)  was  a  gala-day;  the  theatre  was  illuminated,  but  the 
Court  was  not  present;  and  so  there  was  nothing  to  restrain  the 
exuberance  of  the  young  bloods  and  officers  whose  privilege  it  was  to 
occupy  the  first  five  rows  of  the  pit,  and  who  had  earlier  been  engaged 
in  drinking  the  King's  health  with  faithfulness,  loyalty  and  ...  persist 
ence.  At  the  first  note  which  sounded  on  the  trumpets,  one  of  these 
gentlemen  snatched  up  his  cane,  and  started  imitating  the  sound  of  a 
galloping  horse.  Soon  this  brilliant  notion  was  taken  up  by  the  rest  of 
the  audience,  and  instantly,  the  whole  theatre-pit  became  a  bear-pit, 
the  audience  a  screaming  crowd  composed  of  fifteen  hundred  school- 

1  Mozart,  I  feel,  has  shown  greater  ingenuity  in  solving  a  complex  technical 
problem;  but  the  final  result  is  both  clearer  and  more  enjoyable  in  Rossini. 


LA  DONNA  DEL  LAGO  379 

boys  all  busily  imitating  the  noises  of  galloping  horses,  with  a  maxi 
mum  of  energy  and  in  strict  rhythm.  The  poor  composer's  ear-drums 
were  not  made  to  stand  up  to  so  infernal  a  din;  he  collapsed  and 
retired. 

But  that  very  same  night,  he  had  to  take  the  coach  and  set  off  post 
haste  for  Milan,  to  fulfil  an  engagement  contracted  some  time  previ 
ously.  We  learned  a  fortnight  later  that,  not  only  when  he  reached 
Milan  itself,  but  at  every  post-station  along  the  route,  he  had  spread 
the  news  that  la  Donna  del  Lago  had  been  a  resounding  success.  In 
all  good  faith,  he  was  lying,  and  we  must  therefore  accord  him  the 
maximum  of  honour  which  is  due  to  a  valiant  liar;  but  in  actual  fact, 
he  was  telling  the  truth.  For,  on  the  5th  of  October,  the  fair-minded 
and  enlightened  people  of  Naples,  having  slept  on  the  matter  and 
eventually  come  to  realize  the  intolerable  measure  of  their  own  in 
justice,  had  decided  to  make  amends  by  applauding  the  new  opera 
just  as  it  deserved  to  be  applauded;  that  is  to  say,  with  violent 
enthusiasm.  Incidentally,  the  number  of  trumpets  in  the  accompani 
ment  to  the  bardic  chorus  had  been  reduced  by  half;  and  it  must  be 
admitted  that,  at  the  premiere,  they  had  been  deafening. 

I  recall  that  night  of  the  5th  of  October,  when  later  in  the  evening, 
at  a  soiree  held  at  the  house  of  the  Princess  Belmonte,  we  poor  fools 
were  commiserating:  "If  only  poor  Rossini  might  hear  of  his  success 
at  some  point  on  his  journey,  just  think  how  it  would  console  him! 
Isn't  it  a  shame  to  think  of  him  travelling  all  alone,  and  so  unhappy  I" 
— how  little  did  we  know  of  Rossini,  and  of  his  love  of  defiant 
bravado! 

If  I  were  not  thoroughly  ashamed  of  the  disproportionate  size 
which  this  book  has  already  attained,  I  should  risk  a  full  and  regular 
analysis  of  la  Donna  del  Lago*.  Its  essential  construction  is  epic 
rather  than  dramatic,  and  the  music  most  certainly  retains  a  kind  of 
Ossianic  flavour,  and  a  certain  barbaric  energy  which  is  character 
istically  stimulating.  Once  the  fiasco  of  the  first-night  was  over  and 
done  with,  the  duet: 

O  matutini  albori  ..-1 

sung  by  Davide  and  Signorina  Colbran,  was  warmly  and  regularly 
applauded;  its  outstanding  features  are  its  freshness  and  a  suggestion 
of  emotional  sincerity  which  is  truly  charming. 
1  O  white  traces  of  dawn  ... 


380  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

The  chorus  of  women's  voices: 

D'Inibaca  donzella  ...;* 
the  miniature  duet: 

Le  mie  barbare  vicende  ...2 

sung  by  Davide  and  Signorina  Colbran;  and  the  aria: 
O  quante  lagrimel* 

sung  by  Signorina  Pisaroni,  are  all  masterpieces;  the   first-act 
finale  is  an  extremely  remarkable  composition,  and  of  the  highest 
originality. 
In  the  second  act,  the  most  outstanding  numbers  include  the  trio: 

Alia  ragion  deh9  cedal^ 
and  the  aria: 

Ah  si  per  a  ...5 

sung  by  Signorina  Pisaroni,  who  rose  to  the  front  rank  as  a  singer  as 
a  result  of  the  reputation  which  she  made  by  her  performance  in  this 
opera. 

The  passions  involved  are  less  dramatic  in  this  work  than  in 
Otello,  but  the  melodies  are,  I  think,  finer.  On  the  whole,  the  music  is 
simpler,  more  spianato;  take,  for  instance,  the  delightful  aria: 

Ma  dov*  e  colei  die  accende?* 

It  was  generally  agreed  among  the  dilettanti  of  Naples  that  la 
Donna  delLago  marked  a  first  step  upon  the  return  road  towards  the 
style  of  the  earlier  part  of  Rossini's  career,  towards  the  musical 
atmosphere  which  is  prevalent  in  FInganno  felice  and  in  Demetrio  e 
Polibio;  in  connection  with  which  I  would  like  to  add  that  not  only 
Demetrio,  but  in  particular  Tancredi,  is  composed  in  a  style  which,  in 
my  personal  opinion,  is  the  finest  thing  that  Rossini  has  achieved,  and 
which,  as  a  result  of  a  more  perfect  balance  maintained  between 
melody  and  harmony,  is  the  better  calculated  to  produce  a  pleasing 
effect.  By  this  statement,  of  course,  I  have  no  intention  of  implying 

1  Damsel  of  Ihibaca  ...         *  The  barbarous  things  that  have  befallen  me  ... 

8  O  how  many  tears  ...          4  I  pray  you,  yield  to  reason! 

*  Ah,  perish  ... !  e  But  where  Is  she  that  burns  with  love? 


LA  DONNA  DEL  LAGO  381 

that  Tancredi  comes  nearest  to  perfection  in  its  musical  ideas,  less 
still  that  it  is  Rossini's  greatest  opera.  Since  the  period  of  Tancredi 
Rossini  has  acquired  far  greater  depth,  and  his  music  has  achieved  a 
forcefulness  far  more  dynamic  in  character;  but  his  ideas  are  to  some 
extent  vitiated  by  the  influence  of  a  falsely-conceived  theory. 


H, 


CHAPTER  XXXVII 
Concerning  eight  minor  Operas  by  Rossini 


.  ERE  follow  a  number  of  operas,  about  which  I  intend  to  write  no 
more  than  a  few  words,  either  because  I  myself  have  never  seen  them, 
or  else  because  they  are  totally  unknown  in  Paris.  I  might  say,  for 
instance,  that  the  aria: 

O  crude  stelle!1 

from  the  opera  Adelalda  diBorgogna  (Rome,  1818*),  is  a  remarkable 
composition,  delightful  to  listen  to,  and  furnishing  an  exquisite  por 
trait  of  despair  in  a  heart  of  sixteen  summers  (in  this  particular 
instance,  the  despair  of  Walter  Scott's  "Miss  Ashton") ;  but  what 
conceivable  meaning  could  an  ex  cathedra  statement  of  this  character 
hold  for  a  reader  who  is  probably  hearing  the  title  Adelalda  di 
Borgogna  for  the  first  time  at  this  very  moment? 

During  the  autumn  season  of  the  year  1817,  an  opera  called 
Armida  was  presented  in  Naples.  Nozzari  played  the  part  of  Rinaldo, 
and  Signorina  Colbran,  that  of  Armida  herself.  It  was  brilliantly 
successful*,  and  contains  what  must  be  one  of  the  finest  of  all 
Rossini's  duets,  and  certainly  the  most  celebrated: 

Amor,  possente  nome!** 

Not  infrequently  it  appears  that  the  fundamental  quality  of  some  of 
Rossini's  finest  compositions  is  not  true  emotion,  but  physical 
excitement,  developed  to  the  most  extraordinary  degree;  and  this  is 
so  striking  in  this  particular  duet  from  Armida  that,  one  Sunday 
morning,  after  a  truly  superlative  performance  at  the  Casino  di 
Bologna,  I  observed  that  many  of  the  ladies  present  were  actually  too 
embarrassed  to  praise  it*.  And  yet,  towards  the  end  of  the  first 
section,  there  are  distinct  traces  of  a  certain  lack  of  precision  in  the 
scoring,  which  might  almost  lead  one  to  suspect  that  this  duet  is  the 
work  of  an  apprentice  at  the  craft.  In  spite  of  its  great  triumph  in 

1  O  cruel  stars!  *  Love!  O  powerful  name! 


MINOR  OPERAS  383 

Naples,  there  is  no  evidence  that  this  opera  has  even  been  revived  on 
other  stages.  The  librettist  is  culpably  responsible  for  a  serious  flag 
ging  of  dramatic  tension  in  parts,  and  he  has  made  a  pitiable  hash  of 
Rinaldo's  wonderful  narrative.  Some  of  the  choruses,  however,  are 
excellent. 

Ricciardo  eZomida  (1818,  autumn  season):  original  cast  including 
Davide,  Nozzari  and  Signorina  Colbran.  The  libretto  is  by  the  late 
Marchese  Berio,  one  of  the  most  charming  men  in  Naples,  and  is 
based  on  an  episode  from  Ricciardetto's  epic,  with  no  more  funda 
mental  alteration  than  a  change  of  names  for  the  characters.  I  have 
only  seen  this  opera  once  or  twice;  my  only  clear  recollection  is  that 
it  was  extremely  well-received.  In  the  first  act,  the  greatest  applause 
was  reserved  for  a  duet  between  le  Signorine  Colbran  and  Pisaroni: 

In  van  tufingi,  ingrata!1 
for  a  trio  between  the  same  two  singers,  plus  Nozzari: 

Cruda  sorte  ...;2 
and  for  Davide's  cavatina: 

Frena,  o  dell3 

while,  in  Act  II,  the  most  successful  number  was  the  duet: 
Ricciardo,  die  vega?4* 

The  style  of  the  opera  as  a  whole  is  impassioned  and  full  of  oriental 
grandeur;  one  of  its  features  is  the  absence  of  an  overture*.  Rossini 
shows  a  distinct  tendency  to  grow  bored  with  the  drudgery  of  writing 
overtures,  and  therefore  has  proved,  with  a  fine  display  of  logic  and 
reason,  that  they  are  unnecessary. 

Ermlone  (1819)  was  no  more  than  a  qualified  success,  and  only  an 
odd  item  here  and  there  received  any  noticeable  applause.  This  opera 
was  an  experiment,  Rossini  having  been  tempted  to  try  his  hand  at  a 
work  in  the  French  tradition*. 

Maometto  secondo  (1820) — a  work  which  I  have  not  seen.  At  the 
time,  I  learned  from  various  correspondents  that  it  became  fairly 
popular.  Certainly  it  contains  a  number  of  remarkable  ensembles. 
The  libretto,  to  the  best  of  my  belief,  is  by  the  Duke  of  Ventignagno, 

1  In  vain  you  dissemble,  ungrateful  woman!     s  O  cruel  fate  ... 

*  Hold  back,  o  Heaven!  4  Ricciardo,  what  do  you  see? 


384  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

who  enjoys  the  reputation  in  Naples  of  being  the  finest  living  Italian 
tragic  dramatist.  Galli,  I  am  told,  was  superb  in  the  part  of  Mahomet. 

Matilde  diShabran  (Rome,  Teatro  Apollo,  1821).  In  this  production 
the  cast  was  led  by  that  attractive  little  prima  donna,  Signorina 
Liparini.  Execrable  libretto,  but  pretty  music— such  was  the  general 
verdict. 

Zelmira,  which  was  first  performed  in  Naples  in  1822,  created  a 
furore  both  there  and  in  Vienna.  Stylistically  speaking,  nothing  could 
be  further  removed  from  the  original  conception  of  Tancredi  and 
Aureliano  in  Palmira  than  this  opera,  which  should  be  compared  with 
Mozart's  la  Clemenza  di  Tito,  similarly  as  far  removed  as  possible 
from  the  style  of  Don  Giovanni.  But  these  two  giants  of  music  have 
proceeded  in  opposite  directions,  for  while  Mozart  would  probably, 
had  he  lived,  have  grown  completely  Italian,  Rossini  may  well,  by 
the  end  of  his  career,  have  become  more  German  than  Beethoven 
himself!  I  have  heard  a  concert-recital  ofZelmira,  but  I  have  never 
seen  it  on  the  stage,  and  so  I  dare  not  offer  any  criticism. 

But  the  degree  of  Teutonism  revealed  in  Zelmira  is  nothing  com 
pared  with  that  which  is  displayed  in  Semiramide,  which  Rossini 
produced  in  Venice  in  1823.  Rossini,  I  fancy,  must  have  been  guilty  of 
a  slip  in  his  geographical  calculations,  for  this  opera,  which  in 
Venice  escaped  ignominy  only  by  grace  of  the  composer's  sacred  and 
untouchable  reputation,  would  probably  have  been  hailed,  in 
Konigsberg  or  in  Berlin,  as  a  miracle  straight  from  heaven.  I  have 
never  seen  it  in  performance,  but  I  am  not  irretrievably  broken 
hearted  over  this  loss,  since  the  extracts  which  I  have  heard  in 
concert-arrangement  have  left  me  singularly  unenthusiastic*.1 

Several  of  Rossini's  operas,  including  among  others  la  Donna  del 
Lago,  Ricdardo  e  Zoraida,  Zelmira  and  Semiramide,  are  not  suited  for 
production  in  Paris,  on  account  of  the  lack  of  a  contralto  with  suffi 
cient  technique  to  execute  music  written  for  Signorina  Pisaroni.2 

In  any  case,  I  should  not  advise  anybody  to  experiment  with  these 
operas  at  the  Louvois.  The  finest  passages  have  already  been  removed 

1  Anyone  who  prefers  Mose  to  Tancredi  will  have  a  higher  opinion  than  I  of 
Semiramide  ...e  sempre  benel  So  long  as  he  remain  sincere,  we  shall  both  be  right. 

8  Unquestionably,  there  must  exist  a  certain  number  of  contraltos  in  France; 
but  as  soon  as  a  young  lady  evinces  difficulty  in  reaching  G  or  A,  she  is  invariably 
told  that  "she  has  no  voice".  Cf.  an  excellent  article  on  the  subject  by  M***,  in 
the  Journal  des  D6bats,  July  1823. 


MINOR  OPERAS  385 

from  their  context  and  inserted  in  other  works — for  example,  the 
aria: 

Oh!  quante  lagrime  ... 

from  la  Donna  del  Lago  has  been  transferred  by  Madame  Pasta  into 
Otello — and  besides,  musically  speaking,  it  is  quite  likely  that  these 
operas  would  seem  feeble  compared  with  Otello  or  Mose. 

I  should  hasten  to  add  that  these  remarks  in  no  way  apply  to 
la  Donna  del  Lago  itself*,  in  whose  superb  and  markedly  original 
score  Rossini,  probably  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  received  some 
positive  help  from  his  libretto.  Given  favourable  circumstances,  this 
opera  could  crush  every  disparagement;  but  it  is  absolutely  essential 
that  it  should  be  given  a  set  designed  and  painted  by  artists  imported 
from  Italy.  The  utterly  absurd  staging  of  gli  Orazii  in  the  latest 
revival  which  we  saw  here  recently,  would  be  the  surest  guarantee  of 
turning  la  Donna  del  Lago  (which  to  some  extent  requires  visual 
illusion)  into  a  complete  fiasco.  Moreover,  it  needs  an  unusually 
large  stage,  to  accommodate  the  marching  and  counter-marching  of 
the  Scottish  army,  together  with  the  famous  bardic  chorus.  Incident 
ally,  there  is  some  resemblance  with  Lesueur's  opera  les  Bardes;  or 
rather,  there  would  be,  if  Lesueur's  genius  happened  to  match 
Rossini's. 

In  1819  (to  the  best  of  my  recollection),  Rossini  also  produced  a 
Mass*  in  Naples,  spending  a  good  three  days  trying  to  dress  up  some 
of  his  noblest  themes  in  a  semblance  of  ecclesiastical  dignity.  The 
experience  was  delightful,  as  one  by  one  all  the  composer's  finest 
melodies  passed  in  solemn  procession  before  our  eyes,  each  slightly 
altered  inform,  so  that  it  became  a  most  interesting  game  to  try  and 
identify  them*  i  A  priest  who  happened  to  be  present  was  heard  to 
exclaim  to  Rossini,  in  deadly  earnest:  Rossini,,  my  son,  if  you  took 
this  Mass  and  went  a-hammering  with  it  at  the  very  gates  of  Paradise* 
St  Peter  himself  couldn't  find  it  in  his  heart  to  close  the  door  in  your 
face,  sinner  that  you  are! — a  sentiment  which  sounds  delicious  in 
Neapolitan  dialect,  owing  to  the  grotesque  forcefulness  of  its  idiom. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII 
Bianca  e  Faliero 

last  caught  a  glimpse  of  Rossini  on  the  night  of  the  4th  of 
October  1819,  riding  post-haste  out  of  Naples,  to  the  accompaniment 
of  a  hail  of  derisive  abuse.  In  the  same  year,  on  the  26th  of  December, 
he  was  in  Milan,  producing  Bianca  e  Faliero.  The  theme  is  very  closely 
modelled  on  Manzoni's  tragedy,  il  Conte  di  Carmagnola.'1  The  scene 
is  set  in  Venice.  The  Council  of  Ten  has  just  passed  sentence  of  death 
upon  a  young  general,  whose  victories  have  aroused  the  jealous  sus 
picions  of  the  oligarchs;  but  Faliero  is  loved  by  Bianca,  the  daughter 
of  the  Doge  himself.  The  part  of  Bianca  was  excellently  sung  by 
Signora  Camporesi;  that  of  Faliero,  by  Signora  Carolina  Bassi,  the 
only  singer  whose  style  in  any  way  rivals  that  of  Madame  Pasta.  The 
decor,  which  represented  the  Council-Chamber  of  the  Ten  was  a 
masterpiece  of  dramatic  atmosphere.  The  very  magnificence  of  this 
hall,  its  gloom  and  hugeness,  its  panels  hung  with  drapes  of  purple 
velvet,  its  scattering  of  candles  in  golden  sconces  providing  a  dim  and 
fitful  illumination — all  this  alone  was  enough  to  strike  terror  into  the 
heart  of  the  observer.  One  felt  already  in  the  presence  of  Despotism, 
all-powerful  and  inexorable.  Let  the  poverty  of  our  resources  or  the 
insensibility  of  our  souls  protest  as  they  will,  there  is  no  more  evoca 
tive  commentary  upon  fine  dramatic  music  than  that  provided  by  a 
fine  dramatic  decor;  nothing  is  better  calculated  to  tempt  the  mind 
out  of  itself  and  send  it  forth  upon  the  first  stage  of  its  journey  into 
the  world  of  illusion;  no  medium  on  earth  is  better  fitted  to  prime  the 
soul  into  a  state  of  musical  receptivity  than  the  little  thrill  of  pleasure 
which  runs  through  the  audience  as  the  curtain  goes  up  at  la  Scala, 
and  the  magnificence  of  the  set  is  revealed  for  the  first  time. 

1  M.  Fauriel,  whose  style  as  a  writer  is  a  model  of  purity,  and  who,  into  the 
bargain,  is  a  man  of  the  most  alert  intelligence,  has  recently  given  us  a  French 
translation  of  il  Conte  di  Carmagnola  (1823).  I  wonder  if  there  is  any  price  that 
the  true  theatre-lover  would  think  too  high  to  see  Shakespeare  translated  in  so 
delightful  a  style?  Incidentally,  //  Conte  di  Carmagnola  contains  the  finest  ode, 
Ifratelli  hanno  ucciso  ifratelli!  which  has  yet  been  written  in  the  XDCth  century 
— at  least,  that  is  my  opinion. 


BIANCA  E  FALIERO  387 

The  design  for  the  Council-Chamber  of  the  Ten  in  Bianca  e 
Falter o  was  one  of  Sanquirico's  supreme  achievements;  but  as  to 
Rossini's  music,  the  whole  score  was  a  hotch-potch  of  reminiscences 
which  earned  scarcely  the  thinnest  applause,  and  indeed  came  close 
to  being  whistled  at.  The  audience  proved  to  be  in  a  highly  critical 
frame  of  mind,  and  a  technically  intricate  aria  rendered  with  frigid 
virtuosity  by  Signora  Camporesi  did  nothing  to  disarm  the  prevailing 
hostility.  This  aria  came  later  to  be  known  as  the  garland  aria, 
because  Bianca  is  holding  a  garland  in  her  hand  as  she  sings  it.  In 
actual  fact,  there  was  only  one  original  number  in  the  whole  of 
Bianca  e  Faliero:  a  quartet— but,  as  though  in  compensation  for  the 
rest,  this  quartet*  (and  in  particular,  the  clarinet-part  in  the  accom 
paniment)  must  rank  among  the  noblest  conceptions  with  which  any 
maestro  in  the  world  has  ever  been  inspired.  I  would  maintain  boldly, 
and  if  not  with  truth,  at  least  with  the  fullest  conviction,  that  there  is 
nothing  in  the  whole  of  Otello,  nothing  in  the  whole  of  la  Gazza 
ladra,  to  stand  comparison  with  it  for  a  single  moment.  The  music 
has  something  of  the  tenderness  of  Mozart,  but  without  Ms  profound 
pathos.  I  am  prepared  to  poise  this  quartet  unashamedly  upon  the 
pinnacle  and  summit  of  Rossini's  achievement,  declaring  its  brilli 
ance  to  be  not  a  jot  less  than  the  finest  things  in  Tancredi  or  la 
Sigillara.1 

Almost  immediately  after  the  initial  run  of  this  opera,  the  number 
was  transferred  to  a  ballet  which  was  to  be  given  in  the  same  theatre; 
and  thus  the  same  audiences  heard  the  same  music  continuously  for 
six  months  on  end  without  ever  growing  tired  of  it— in  fact,  as  soon 
as  it  was  due  to  be  played,  the  house  fell  into  an  awed  and  impressive 
silence. 

Whenever  my  conscience  begins  to  accuse  me  of  having  uttered  too 
many  exaggerations  in  this  little  book  on  music,  I  hum  over  to  myself 
the  theme  of  this  quartet;  and  immediately  my  self-confidence  returns. 
Somewhere  deep  within  me,  there  is  a  secret  voice  which  whispers: 
If  there  are  people  who  cannot  feel  it  as  I  feel  it,  so  much  the  worse  for 
them!  Why  should  they  go  buying  books  which  were  not  intended  for 
them  in  the  first  place? 

1  La  Pietra  del  Paragone.  (Trans.) 


A 


CHAPTER  XXXIX 
Odoardo  e  Cristina 


YEAR  before  the  production  of  Bianca  e  Faliero,  Rossini  had 
played  a  singularly  unscrupulous  trick  upon  a  certain  Venetian 
impresario;  the  incident  had  reached  the  ears  of  the  public  in  Venice; 
and  the  failure  of  Bianca  was  in  large  measure  due  to  a  widespread 
suspicion  among  the  audience  that  they  might  be  tricked  into 
applauding  music  served  up  cold  from  another  opera.  In  the  spring  of 
1819,  Rossini  had  been  engaged  by  the  impresario  of  the  teatro  San- 
Benedetto*  in  Venice  for  the  sum  of  four  or  five  hundred  sequins, 
which  represented  an  enormous  sum  in  Italy  at  the  time.  The 
libretto  which  the  impresario  forwarded  to  Rossini  in  Naples  was 
entitled  Odoardo  e  Christina. 

At  that  epoch,  Rossini  was  head-over-heels  in  love  with  Made 
moiselle  Chaumel  (la  Comelli)* ;  and  he  had  not  the  strength  of  mind 
to  tear  himself  away  from  Naples  until  precisely  a  fortnight  before 
the  premiere  at  the  San-Benedetto  was  due  to  be  given.  However,  to 
calm  the  growing  impatience  of  the  impresario,  he  had  at  odd 
intervals  sent  off  to  him  a  fair  selection  of  quite  creditable  musical 
numbers.  Admittedly,  the  words  of  the  original  text  seemed  to  bear 
little  or  no  resemblance  to  those  of  the  songs  which  kept  turning  up 
in  Venice — but  who  ever  worries  about  the  words  in  an  opera  serial 
They  are  always  the  same,  the  identical  nonsense  from  one  libretto 
to  the  next,felicita,felice  ognora,  crude  stelle,  etc.,  etc.,  and  I  doubt 
if  a  single  person  in  all  Venice  ever  read  the  text  of  a  libretto  serio; 
not  even  the  impresario  himself  who  had  commissioned  and  paid  for 
it!  In  any  case,  when  Rossini  did  finally  condescend  to  put  in  an 
appearance,  there  were  no  more  than  nine  days  left  before  the  open 
ing  night.  The  early  scenes  of  the  opera  were  greeted  with  frantic 
applause;  but  unfortunately  there  sat  in  the  pit  a  solitary  Neapolitan 
business-man,  who  proceeded  to  provoke  a  frantic  state  of  consterna 
tion  among  his  immediate  neighbours  by  singing  the  theme  of  every 


ODOARDO  E  CRISTINA  389 

number  before  the  performers  on  the  stage  had  reached  it.  Everybody 
was  naturally  intensely  curious  to  discover  where  he  had  already 
managed  to  hear  this  supposedly  original  music.  "Where  have  I 
heard  it  before?"  he  exclaimed.  "Why,  in  Naples,  of  course,  six 
months  ago,  in  Ermione  and  Ricciardo  eZoraide.  It  was  very  popular, 
you  know!  But  the  only  thing  I  can't  understand  is,  why  did  you  go 
and  change  the  title?  In  any  case,  the  cavatina  of  your  nice  new  opera 
is  patched  together  out  of  the  best  phrases  from  a  duet  in  Ricciardo: 

Ah!  nati  in  ver  noi  siamo  ...1 

and  Rossini  hasn't  even  bothered  to  change  the  words!" 

During  the  long  interval  and  the  ballet  which  filled  it,  this  fatal 
piece  of  information  was  passed  with  lightning  speed  from  table  to 
table  round  the  coffee-houses,  where  the  foremost  dilettanti  of  the 
land  were  busy  arguing  out  the  rational  bases  of  their  spontaneous 
enthusiasm.  In  Milan,  the  incident  would  have  provoked  all  the 
furies  known  to  outraged  patriotic  vanity;  but  in  Venice,  everybody 
burst  out  laughing  instead.  Ancillo,  a  charming  man  and  a  renowned 
poet,  produced  an  impromptu  sonetto  lamenting  the  ill-fortune  of 
Venice,  compared  with  the  good  fortune  of  Mademoiselle  Chaumel. 
Meanwhile,  however,  the  poor  impresario,  who  was  likely  to  be 
financially  ruined  by  the  scandal,  rushed  off  in  a  fit  of  uncontrollable 
rage  in  search  of  Rossini.  At  length  he  discovered  him;  but  Rossini, 
with  unexpected  coolness  and  impudence,  simply  retorted:  "What 
did  I  contract  to  do?  Merely  to  provide  you  with  music  which  should 
be  applauded.  This  music  has  been  applauded,  e  tanto  basta.  Further 
more,  if  you  had  possessed  an  atom  of  commonsense,  you  could 
hardly  have  helped  noticing  that  the  edges  of  the  manuscript  I  sent 
you  were  already  turning  yellow  with  age,  and  therefore  you  could 
hardly  fail  to  realize  that  the  music  which  I  was  forwarding  from 
Naples  was  already  old.  Any  impresario  worth  his  salt,  Sir,  should  be 
sharper  than  an  old  Jew;  whereas  you,  Sir,  show  every  symptom  of 
being  as  innocent  as  a  babe  in  arms!" 

If  anyone  other  than  Rossini  had  been  guilty  of  such  an  atrocious 

piece  of  impertinence,  the  insult  could  have  been  avenged  only  by  the 

stiletto;  but  this  impresario  was  a  true  devotee  of  music,  and  he  was 

so  enraptured  by  what  he  had  already  heard  (it  being,  for  him  at 

1  Ah,  in  truth  we  are  born ... 


390  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

least,  a  genuine  premiere),  that  he  promptly  forgave  the  sins  and 
omissions  inspired  by  love  in  a  man  of  genius*.1 

This  expedient,  designed  to  meet  a  particular  emergency  in  Venice, 
was  only  an  extreme  instance  of  what  has  unfortunately  become 
Rossini's  normal  practice.  For  several  years  now  it  has  been  his 
main  concern  to  secure  contracts  for  his  operas  in  different  cities;  he 
then  proceeds  to  compose  one  or  two  genuinely  original  numbers; 
and  all  the  rest  is  concocted  out  of  old  ideas  refashioned  to  suit  the 
context.  This  explains  how  it  has  happened  that  the  key-note  of 
originality,  which  forms  such  an  essential  constituent  of  beauty  in 
music,  is  often  absent  (if  the  listener  should  happen  to  be  a  man  of 
any  considerable  experience  in  the  field)  from  compositions  which, 
in  all  other  respects,  are  so  lively  and  so  entertaining. 

This  peculiar  Rossinian  habit,  moreover,  makes  it  excessively 
difficult  to  reply  to  the  question,  which  is  his  finest  opera? 

(L  intend  to  leave  out  of  account  the  wider  question,  whether  it  is 
legitimate  to  prefer  the  simplicity  of  Toner edi  to  the  stylistic  luxuri- 
ousness  of  Ricciardo  e  Zoraide,  with  its  ornamentation  transmuted 
into  thematic  material.) 

In  the  overture  to  the  Barber  there  is  a  passage  of  quite  entrancing 
deliciousness:  but  here  is  the  rub — the  idea  had  already  been  used 
once  before  in  Tancredi,  and  a  second  time,  rather  later,  in  Elisabetta. 
In  the  latter  instance  it  appears  as  the  theme  of  a  duet,  and  this  is 
probably  the  happiest  of  the  three  different  versions.  Ideally,  then, 
one's  first  encounter  with  this  delightful  musical  idea  should  be  in 
the  duet-version;  but  that  depends  vastly  on  luck.  If  one  happens  to 
have  met  with  it  earlier,  whether  in  Tancredi  or  else  in  the  Barber, 
the  odds  are  that  one  will  find  the  duet  merely  exasperating. 
Given  the  loan  of  a  piano,  and  of  a  competent  pianist  to  go  with 
it,  I  could  give  thirty  examples  of  such  typically  Rossinian  trans 
formations. 

There  is  a  curious  thesis  still  to  be  written — an  analytical  survey  of 
all  the  musical  items  in  Rossini's  operas  which  are  really  distinct  and 
independent",  this  to  be  followed  by  a  second  survey  of  all  the  items 
based  upon  similar  musical  ideas,  with  footnotes  indicating  in  each 

1  A  correspondent  in  Turin  informs  me  that  Madame  Pasta  has  recently  (1 822) 
appeared  in  Odoardo  e  Cristina  with  breath-taking  success.  This  version  of 
Odoardo  was  compiled  from  a  selection  of  the  more  popular  numbers  out  of 
previous  operas  by  Rossini  which  had  not  yet  been  heard  in  Turin. 


ODOARDO  E  CRISTINA  391 

instance  the  particular  aria  or  duet  which  embodies  the  most 
satisfactory  version. 

Among  my  many  acquaintances  in  Naples,  I  have  met  a  score  of 
young  fellows  who  would  be  perfectly  competent  to  complete  a  study 
of  this  kind  in  a  couple  of  days,  and  with  as  much  off-handed  non 
chalance  as  a  Londoner  might  show  in  dashing  off  a  critical  essay  on 
the  eleventh  canto  of  Don  Juan,  or  a  Parisian  in  giving  birth  to  a 
ponderous  and  learned  article  on  the  Theory  of  Public  Credit  or  a 
pretty  little  satire  concerning  some  adolescent  piece  of  devilry  perpe 
trated  by  an  Honourable  Minister  in  Council  upon  a  Senior  President 
of  the  Courts.  Amid  the  gay  round  of  Neapolitan  social  life,  one 
might  meet  a  hundred  young  men,  any  one  of  whom,  if  really  put  to 
it,  could  write  a  light-opera  at  least  as  good  as  Ser  Marc  Antonio  or 
le  Baron  de  Dolsheim — and  take  no  more  than  six  weeks  about  it. 
The  difference  is,  of  course,  that  no  professional  maestro  who  has 
gone  through  the  regular  discipline  of  the  Conservatoire  would  dream 
of  spending  so  much  as  a  fortnight  on  any  opera  in  this  style  or 
category. 

My  Neapolitan  friends  used  to  claim  that  it  was  the  easiest  thing  in 
all  the  world  to  resurrect  fifty  masterpieces  by  Paesiello  or  Cimarosa. 
One  merely  had  to  bide  one's  time  until  they  were  all  completely  for 
gotten  (a  state  of  things  which  will  be  fully  realized  in  a  year  or  two : 
as  it  is,  only  one  of  all  Paesiello's  operas,  la  Scuffiara,  survives  in  the 
normal  repertoire) ;  and  then,  along  comes  some  neat-fingered  and 
intelligent  musical  carpenter,  some  composer,  say,  who  is  taking  a 
rest-cure,  and  who  is  forbidden  by  doctor's  orders  to  put  his  mind  to 
anything  serious  (Signor  Pavesi,  for  instance);  he  takes  hold  of 
Paesiello's  Pino,  lops  off  the  recitatives,  re-scores  and  re-orches 
trates  the  accompaniment,  and  adds  a  new  set  of  finales.  Obviously 
the  hardest  part  of  the  job  would  be  to  convert  the  most  original 
passage  in  each  act  into  material  for  a  finale.  I  wonder  how  often  it 
would  occur,  in  the  course  of  this  experiment  in  musical  joinery,  that 
one  would  stumble  upon  tunes  which  seem  to  reveal  a  striking  resem 
blance  to  the  more  popular  successes  of  our  greater  living  com 
posers  ...?  I  confess  that,  if  the  lovely  quartet  from  Bianca  e  Waller o 
were  to  be  among  the  forgotten  treasures  thus  unearthed,  I  should  be 
genuinely  disappointed! 

In  the  present  phase  of  Ms  career,  Rossini  stands  most  urgently  in 


392  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

need  of  a  few  resounding  and  humiliating  flops.  Unfortunately,  how 
ever,  I  can  think  of  nowhere,  other  than  Naples  and  Milan,  where 
there  are  audiences  who  are  worthy  to  call  down  a  similar  fiasco  upon 
his  head;  in  any  other  town,  an  incident  of  this  nature  might  arise 
through  hatred,  but  it  could  never  represent  a  conscious  critical 
judgment.  Rossini  spent  the  year  1822  in  Vienna;  and  in  1824,  so  the 
rumour  goes,  London  will  have  the  privilege  of  being  his  host  But  in 
London,  far  from  the  accustomed  theatre  of  his  glory,  Rossini  will 
find  only  greater  license  and  liberty  to  give  out  old  music  for  new; 
thus  his  natural  weakness  will  receive  nothing  but  encouragement, 

If  we  are  to  see  him  really  on  his  mettle,  let  us  hope  that  the 
London  impresario  will  confront  him  with  the  libretto  of  Don 
Giovanni  or  of  il  Matrimonio  segreto,  and  tell  him  to  set  that  to  music ! 


B, 


CHAPTER  XL 
Concerning  Rossini's  Style 


)  EFORE  concluding,  I  must  say  a  word  or  two  about  the  character 
istic  features  of  Rossini's  style — a  duty  which  follows  inescapably 
from  the  theme  of  this  book.  To  compose  a  treatise  upon  painting, 
and  to  write  in  praise  of  pictures  presents  difficulties  which  are 
already  almost  insuperable;  but  pictures  at  least  leave  a  distinct  and 
tangible  impression  on  the  mind,  even  when  that  mind  belongs  to  a 
fool.  Consider,  then,  the  proportionate  difficulty  in  talking  about 
music  under  the  same  circumstances !  Is  there  any  phrase  so  outland 
ish  or  so  absurd,  that  it  may  not  offer  some  sort  of  a  temptation  to 
the  poor  critic  at  Ms  wits'  end?  The  reader  may  well  imagine  that  he 
will  not  be  forced  to  dig  very  deep  in  order  to  unearth  a  few  specimens ! 

Great  music  is  nothing  but  our  emotion.  It  would  appear  that 
music  creates  a  sensation  of  pleasure  by  compelling  the  imagination 
to  sustain  itself  temporarily  upon  a  peculiar  kind  of  fantasy.  The 
fantasies  of  music  are  neither  calm  and  sublime  (as  they  are  in 
sculpture),  nor  sentimental  and  musing  (as  they  are  in  the  paintings  of 
Correggio). 

The  most  striking  quality  in  Rossini's  music  is  a  peculiar  verve,  a 
certain  stirring  rapidity  which  lightens  the  spirit,  banishing  all  those 
grave,  half-conscious  musings  conjured  up  from  the  very  depths  of 
being  by  the  slow,  sad  strains  of  Mozart.  And  close  on  the  heels  of 
this  first  quality  comes  a  second,  a  kind  of  freshness,  which  evokes  a 
smile  of  pleasure  at  every  bar.  As  a  result,  almost  any  score  seems  dull 
and  heavy  beside  one  of  Rossini's.  If  Mozart  were  to  dawn  unheralded 
upon  the  world  to-day,  such  is  the  severe  verdict  that  would  be  passed 
upon  Ms  music.  To  learn  to  appreciate  him,  we  should  have  to  listen 
to  Mm  every  day  for  a  fortnight;  but,  at  the  premiere,  he  would  be 
Mssed  off  the  stage.  If  Mozart  still  manages  to  survive  beside 
Rossini,  if  sometimes  one  even  prefers  him,  it  is  because  he  is  rich 
with  the  accumulated  treasures  of  all  our  past  admiration,  and 
beloved  for  the  delight  wMch  he  has  given  us  over  the  years. 


394  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

Generally  speaking,  it  is  only  those  whose  courage  lies  beyond  the 
fear  of  ridicule  who  dare  openly  prefer  Mozart.  To  the  common  run 
of  dilettanti,  Mozart  occupies  a  position  similar  to  that  of  Fenelon 
in  the  eyes  of  the  common  run  of  writers:  they  praise  him  religiously, 
and  would  die  rather  than  imitate  his  style ! 

On  the  other  hand,  if  Rossini's  music  is  never  ponderous,  it  is  des 
perately  easy  to  hear  too  much  of  it*.  The  most  distinguished  repre 
sentatives  of  the  dilettanti  of  Italy,  who  have  now  been  listening  to  it 
for  twelve  years,  have  been  beginning,  in  these  last  times,  to  ask  for 
something  fresh.  What  will  happen  in  twenty  years'  time,  when  the 
Barber  of  Seville  will  be  as  old-fashioned  as  il  Matrimonio  segreto  or 
Don  Giovanntt 

Rossini  is  rarely  sad — but  what  is  music  without  at  least  a  hint  of 
pensive  melancholy? 

I  am  never  merry  when  I  hear  sweet  music1 

— so  writes  the  author  of  Cymbeline  and  Othello,  he  who,  best  of  all 
the  poets  of  the  modern  age,  had  sounded  the  secrets  of  the  human 
soul. 

In  this  unquiet,  unleisured  century  of  ours,  Rossini  has  one  farther 
advantage:  his  music  demands  no  concentration. 

In  any  drama  where  the  music  makes  a  serious  attempt  to  interpret 
the  precise  nuance  or  measure  of  feeling  which  is  embodied  in  the 
text,  the  listener  is  obliged  to  concentrate  before  he  can  be  moved,  or, 
in  other  words,  before  he  can  begin  to  derive  enjoyment  from  what  he 
hears.  There  is  even,  perhaps,  a  still  more  stringent  condition 
attached  to  the  appreciation  of  music:  before  he  cm  feel,  he  must 
possess  a  soul.  But  in  Rossini's  music,  the  contrary  is  true;  Rossinian 
scores,  full  of  arias  and  duets  which,  all  too  often,  are  no  more  than 
brilliant  firework-displays  for  the  concert-platform,2  demand  no 
more  than  the  slightest,  the  most  careless  effort  of  attention,  for 
the  listener  to  harvest  all  the  pleasure  which  they  may  afford;  nor  is 
it  necessary,  on  all  save  the  rarest  occasions,  to  own  that  thing  which 
some  romantic  fools  have  called  a  soul — an  incalculable  advantage! 

I  am  only  too  well  aware  how  urgently  so  wild  an  assertion  cries 

1  Merchant  of  Venice.  In  English  in  the  original.  (Trans.) 

2  Particularly  in  the  operas  written  for  Signorina  Colbran  during  Rossini's 
Neapolitan  period. 


ROSSINI'S  STYLE  395 

out  for  justification.  Very  well,  then;  open  the  piano,  please,  and 
recall  how,  in  il  Matrimonio  segreto1  (Act  I,  scene  i),  Carolina,  rich 
in  the  happiness  of  being  reunited  with  her  lover,  reflects  tenderly 
upon  the  bliss  which  might  be  their  lot: 

Se  amor  si  gode  in  pace  . .  .2 

These  words,  with  their  utter  simplicity,  have  conjured  up  one  of  the 
loveliest  musical  phrases  in  the  world.  But,  in  the  Barber  of  Seville, 
when  Rosina,  who  had  come  to  think  of  her  lover  as  a  prodigy  of 
ingratitude  and  a  monster  of  depravity,  and  had  even  suspected  him 
of  trying  to  sell  her  to  "Count  Almaviva",  discovers  after  all  that  he 
is  true  to  her,  and  so  encounters  one  of  those  supreme  instants  of 
rapture  and  content,  the  like  of  which  it  is  rarely  given  to  the  human 
soul  to  experience — in  these  circumstances,  Rosina,  thankless  little 
wretch  that  she  is,  can  find  nothing  better  to  offer  us  than  a  tinselly 
garland  offioriture,  which  (one  suspects)  simply  happened  to  be  those 
which  Signora  Giorgi  (the  original  Rosina)  was  able  to  master  with 
the  least  show  of  awkwardness.  No  one  could  call  these  fioriture 
(which,  admittedly,  would  sound  very  nice  on  the  concert-platform) 
in  any  degree  sublime ;  but  Rossini  was  determined  that  everybody 
should  find  them  amusing,  and  he  has  succeeded.  This  is  not  only  a 
fault,  but  an  inexcusable  one;  it  is  an  aesthetic  blunder  of  the  first 
magnitude  to  portray  the  deep  contentment  which  I  have  just  des 
cribed  as  mere  superficial  hilarity;  and  incongruities  such  as  this  are 
typical  of  the  worst  defect  of  his  "second  manner"— -his  tendency  to 
score  his  music  by  the  elementary  process  of  piling  in  lock,  stock  and 
barrel  all  the  embellishments  which  his  artists  have  been  in  the  habit 
of  using  ad  libitum  to  ornament  the  works  of  other  composers.  Very 
often  a  piece  of  music  which  had  originally  been  nothing  but  a  more 
or  less  charming  frill  is  transformed  into  a  feature  of  major  import 
ance — for  instance,  the  tremolo  passages  which  appear  so  frequently 
in  parts  written  for  Galli  (Vltaliana  in  Algeri,  Sigillara,  il  Turco  in 
Italia,  la  Gazza  ladra,  Maometto,  etc.}  It  could  scarcely  be  denied  that 
ornamentation  of  this  character  is  uncommonly  elegant,  nor  that  it 

1  If  I  seem  to  be  quoting  the  Secret  Marriage  rather  too  frequently,  it  is  merely 
because  it  is  one  of  the  three  or  four  operas  which  I  can  assume  to  be  thoroughly 
familiar  to  the  four  or  five  hundred  serious  dilettanti  to  whom  this  book  is 
addressed. 

2  If  love  is  enjoyed  in  peace  ... 


396  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

lends  an  air  of  great  vivacity,  often  of  the  most  seductive  freshness,  to 
the  music;  but  it  is  no  less  true  that  any  trio  or  aria  so  decorated  will 
most  assuredly  lose  whatever  finer  shades  of  feeling  it  once  pos 
sessed,  and  degenerate  into  a  show-piece  of  gilt  and  glittering 
virtuosity. 

Or  would  you  prefer  to  arrive  at  the  same  conclusion  by  way  of  a 
different  argument?  Rossini,  in  obedience  to  a  generally-accepted 
convention,  composed  all  his  operas  upon  the  assumption  that  his 
two  acts  would  be  separated  by  an  interval  of  at  least  an  hour  and  a 
half,  perhaps  containing  a  ballet.  But  in  France,  where  people  in 
pursuit  of  pleasure  would  do  anything  rather  than  dream  of  being 
natural,  one  would  be  left  feeling  that  one's  Rossini-worship  was 
spurious  and  superficial  unless  one  were  prepared  to  spend  three 
hours  on  end,  without  an  instant's  reliefer  relaxation,  listening  to  his 
music.  This  surfeit  of  music,  imposed  with  such  intelligence  and 
foresight  upon  a  race  which  possesses  less  patience  and  better  ballet- 
dancers  than  any  other  in  Europe,  becomes  utterly  intolerable  in  the 
case  of  Don  Giovanni,  or  any  other  similar,  deeply-moving  work. 
After  four  uninterrupted  acts  of  le  Nozze  di  Figaro,  there  is  not  a 
single  member  of  the  audience  who  is  not  sick  with  head-ache  and 
sheer  exhaustion,  and  an  experience  of  this  devastating  character  is 
sufficient  to  put  one  off  music  altogether  for  a  whole  week;  but  such 
cantankerous  and  unkind  thoughts  never  enter  one's  head  for  an 
instant  after  listening  to  the  two  uninterrupted  acts  of  Tancredi  or 
Elisabetta.  Rossini's  music,  which  is  perpetually  slithering  over  the 
brink  into  the  echoing  abyss  of  concert-platform  virtuosity,  is  ideally 
suited  to  this  brilliant  arrangement  devised  by  the  Parisian  theatre 
for  its  long-suffering  public,  and  emerges  triumphant  from  such  a 
searching  test.  In  every  conceivable  sense,  Rossini's  music  is  French* 
music;  but  for  all  that,  it  is  bringing  us  every  day  nearer  to  a  state  of 
mind  in  which,  eventually,  we  may  deserve  to  hear  the  accents  of 
genuine  passion. 


CHAPTER  XLI 

Concerning  Rossini* s  Attitude  towards  certain  Composers 
among  his  Contemporaries 

and 
Concerning  his  personal  Character 


R, 


.OSSINI  adores  Cimarosa,  and  his  eyes  fill  with  tears  whenever 
he  mentions  his  name. 

Among  academic  composers,  his  greatest  respect  is  reserved  for 
Signor  Cherubini,  of  the  Conservatoire  de  Paris.  Who  can  guess  what 
this  noble  composer  might  have  achieved,  if  the  growing  influence  of 
German  music  had  not  quenched  the  last  spark  of  love  in  his  soul,  or 
rather,  if  it  had  not  banished  the  last  shred  of  feeling  which  he  still 
retained  for  the  melody  of  his  native  land ! 

If  Mayer  were  still  actively  composing,  Rossini  would  be  terrified 
of  him;  but  Mayer  himself,  in  return  for  this  proof  of  respectful 
humility,  is  charmingly  fond  of  his  young  rival,  loving  him  with  all 
the  clumsy  affection  of  his  honest  Bavarian  heart. 

Rossini  has  the  highest  opinion  of  Signor  Pavesi,  who  has  pro 
duced  work  of  uncommon  power  and  character,  and  he  is  sincerely 
anxious  about  this  composer's  failing  health,  which,  young  as  he  is, 
has  already  driven  him  into  retirement.  Incidentally,  it  is  interesting 
to  hear  the  man  who  composed  the  Barber  maintain  that,  in  the  par 
ticular  buffo  style  which  is  known  as  no  ta  eparola,  there  is  no  further 
progress  possible  after  Fioravanti.  I  have  heard  Mm  add  that  he 
could  imagine  nothing  more  absurd  in  all  the  world  than  the  fatuous 
ness  of  presuming  to  meddle  with  opera  buffa,  after  the  unsurpassed 
state  of  perfection  to  which  this  form  had  already  been  raised  by 
Paesiello,  Cimarosa  and  Guglielmi. 

One  thing  which  stands  out  clearly  from  this  confession  is  that 
Rossini  has  no  conception  whatsoever  of  the  emergence  of  a  new 
ideal  of  beauty.  Pursuing  his  original  idea,  he  insists  that  no  one  can 
hope  to  propose  any  new  aesthetic  ideals,  since,  in  the  short  period 


398  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

which  has  elapsed  between  Guglielmi's  day  and  our  own,  the  nature 
of  man  has  had  too  little  time  for  development.  We  shall  have  to  wait 
another  fifty  years,  he  maintains,  before  a  new  public  emerges  to 
make  new  demands  upon  its  artists;  but  when  that  happens,  each  of 
us  will  seek  to  serve  it,  following  the  promptings  of  his  own  par 
ticular  genius.  To  some  extent,  I  have  had  to  condense  Rossini's 
reasoning,  but  without  distorting  the  general  sense  of  his  argument. 
I  once  heard  him  propounding  this  point  of  view  in  an  onslaught  of 
spluttering  fury  directed  against  some  poor  pedant  from  Berlin,  who 
had  had  the  effrontery  to  stand  there,  armed  with  a  few  thin  quota 
tions  from  Kant,  and  oppose  the  instinctive  feelings  of  a  man  of 
genius!  Yet,  in  connection  with  Rossini,  I  could  sincerely  wish  that 
the  cold  North  would  undertake  some  serious  reflection,  and  acquire, 
perhaps,  a  deeper  critical  awareness  of  itself  on  the  one  hand,  and  of 
Rossini  on  the  other,  of  his  gaiety  and  of  his  musical  ability.  Certain 
northern  critics  have  seen  fit  to  accuse  some  of  Rossini's  numbers  of 
being  "too  frivolous"  ;x  I  shudder  to  imagine  the  distress  which  might 
seize  upon  these  poor  pompous  men  of  letters,  if  ever  they  were  to 
find  themselves  confronted  with  a  real  opera  buffa — with  the  aria : 

Signor,  si,  lo  genio  e  hello!2 

for  instance,  which  is  sung  by  the  Pedant  in  Paesiello's  la  Scuffiara; 
or  with  Cimarosa's  aria: 

Amicone  delmio  core  ...3 

etc.,  etc.  If  a  person  is  obviously  about  as  sensitive  as  a  rotten  tree- 
stump,  even  to  the  least  esoteric  nuances  of  an  aria,  had  that  person 
not  do  better  to  hold  his  tongue? 

Let  the  North  busy  itself  with  its  Foreign  Bible  Societies,  with  its 
Utilitarianism  and  its  Finance',  let  Peers  of  the  Realm  in  England, 
rolling  in  their  millions,  spend  the  day  from  dawn  to  dusk  in  grave 

1  Vide:  le  Miroir  (December  1821),  referring  to  the  era-era!  passage  in  the 
finale  ofTItaliana  in  Algeri;  the  style  of  which  passage,  however,  is  no  more  than 
di  mezzo  carattere. 

2  Indeed,  sir,  genius  is  a  very  fine  thing! 

In  the  original  Neapolitan  libretto,  the  pedant  apostrophises  the  little  dress 
maker  in  words  something  like  this:  "You  couldn't  have  chosen  anyone  better 
in  the  world  to  fall  in  love  with  than  me,  now  could  you?  You  could  hunt  through 
America,  you  could  search  all  Asia,  you  could  go  half-way  round  the  world  and 
back  again,  and  never  find  anyone  quite  like  me  ..." 

8  Little  friend  of  my  heart ... 


ROSSINI'S  CHARACTER  399 

discussion  with  their  agents  concerning  the  problem  of  a  twenty-five 
per  cent  reduction  in  the  rents  of  their  innumerable  tenants;  mean 
while,  the  poor  Italian,  who  only  finds  Hs  fetters  more  securely 
fastened,  and  the  hideous  injustices  which  he  endures  more  tyran- 
nously  prosecuted,  by  the  efforts,  direct  and  indirect,  of  such  pious 
and  humanitarian  folk,  knows  only  too  well  what  he  should  think  of 
so  much  virtue.1  His  enjoyment  lies  in  art;  he  has  learned  to  appreci 
ate  beauty  in  every  shape  and  form  which  nature  has  been  pleased  to 
bestow  upon  his  surroundings;  there  is  pity  rather  than  hatred  in  his 
look  as  he  scrutinizes  the  dreary  features  of  the  northerner.  What  do 
you  expect?  I  heard  one  day  from  one  of  the  most  charming  of  the 
poor  citizens  of  Venice:  These  pious r,  gloomy  folk  treat  Venice  like  a 
colony;  we  are  eight  hundred  thousand  people,  and  they  give  us  orders, 
and  call  us  barbarians,  because  we  are  uncivilized  enough  to  prefer  our 
sunshine  to  their  snows!  But  we  watch  them  being  bored,  and  that  is  our 
revenge! 

Let  the  great  lords  of  the  earth  look  down  from  the  clouded  sum 
mits  of  their  aristocratic  pride  and  from  their  haunts  of  luxury,  and 
cast  a  glance  of  pity  upon  poor  Rossini,  who,  in  thirteen  years  of  un 
relenting  labour  and  self-denial  bordering  upon  parsimony,  has  still 
not  managed  to  set  aside  a  mere  sixty  or  eighty  thousand  francs 
against  his  old  age*.  Yet  I  might  add  that  poverty  is  no  hardship  to 
him;  he  needs  no  more  exotic  entertainment  than  a  piano  or  a  fool. 
In  Italy,  no  matter  where,  in  the  humblest  tavern  as  in  the  most 
brilliant  salon,  the  name  of  Rossini  has  only  to  be  spoken  for  every 
eye  to  turn  and  look  at  him;  the  seat  of  honour  is  his  by  right,  and 
where  he  is  becomes  the  seat  of  honour;  adoration  and  sincere 
respect  surround  him,  such  as  the  noblest  lord  can  nowhere  find  in 
Italy,  unless  he  be  prepared  to  fling  away  a  hundred  thousand  francs 
a  year,  and  smile  at  his  own  enforced  largesse.  Rossini's  fame  brings 
him  every  advantage  which  could  accrue  from  great  wealth,  and  so 
he  only  remembers  his  poverty  when  he  happens  to  think  specifically 
of  the  number  of  gold  pieces  which  he  possesses.  The  unique  position 
which  he  occupies  in  Italy  is  the  main  reason  why  it  was  so  absurd  to 
propose  that  he  should  come  and  live  in  Paris,  where,  after  a  brief 

1  I  would  refer  the  reader  to  the  accounts  of  the  journeys  made  by  Sharp  and 
Eustace;  to  those  of  Lord  Bentinck's  proclamation  to  the  Genoese;  of  the 
Admirals  Nelson  and  Caraccioli;  also  to  the  anecdote  of  the  "corpse  which  stood 
upright  on  the  sea1*. 


400  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

blaze  of  glory  as  a  nine-days'  wonder,  he  would  swiftly  have  found 
himself  relegated  behind  the  rank  and  dignity  of  half  a  thousand 
Ministers,  Ambassadors  and  Generals,  every  one  of  whom  would  be 
reckoned  a  more  important  personage  than  he.  Whereas,  in  Italy, 
society  looks  on  public  office  as  little  better  than  a  masquerade,  and 
values  nothing  in  the  Minister  more  highly  than  the  salary  he 
receives. 

Before  the  time  of  his  marriage  with  Signorina  Colbran  (1821), 
who  brought  with  her  a  dowry  of  some  20,000  liwes  per  annum 
Rossini  had  never  bought  more  than  two  suits  of  clothes  in  a  year; 
for  the  rest,  he  was  lucky  enough  never  to  be  inflicted  with  such  dull 
virtues  as  prudence — and  in  any  case,  what  is  "prudence"  in  the  souls 
of  the  poor,  except  the  fear  of  going  short!  (Take  note,  all  you 
reasonable  and  prudent  people,  that  the  sweetness  of  your  wise  self- 
righteousness  rests  at  bottom  upon  this  worthiest  of  inspirations: 
fearty  Rossini,  confident  in  the  power  of  his  own  genius,  lived  simply 
from  hand  to  mouth,  and  never  dreamed  of  the  morrow.  Yet, 
although  he  may  come  to  be  a  passing  fashion  in  the  North,  Rossini 
can  never  grow  to  be  intimately  accepted  by  races  who  are  dis 
similar  to  Mm  in  every  particular.  The  best  that  may  be  hoped  for  is 
that  there  will  come  eventually  a  new  generation,  less  poisoned  by 
literary  snobbery,  less  prone  to  grovel  before  the  altars  of  the  style 
noble,,  less  susceptible  to  shocks  of  horror  when  confronted  by  the 
famous  era-era!  passage  from  Vltaliana  in  Algeri.  When  that  happens, 
France  will  at  last  begin  to  understand  (i)  Italian  joyousness;  and 
(ii)  Italian  genius. 

Rossini,  and  in  fact  all  Italians,  have  a  great  regard  for  Mozart; 
yet  they  do  not  adore  him  as  we  do ;  for  they  admire  his  incomparable 
qualities  as  a  writer  of  symphonic  music  rather  than  his  gifts  as  a 
composer  of  opera.  They  never  refer  to  him  except  as  one  of  the 
greatest  geniuses  who  ever  lived;  yet,  even  in  Don  Giovanni,  they  are 
liable  to  detect  the  typical  weaknesses  of  the  German  school — that  is 
to  say,  not  enough  vocal  melody;  plenty  of  melody  for  the  clarinet  and 
plenty  for  the  bassoon,  but  nothing,  or  next  to  nothing,  for  that  finest 
of  all  instruments  (when  it  is  not  shouting  its  head  off!),  the  human 
voice. 

There  was  only  one  genius  in  all  the  world,  according  to  Rossini, 
who  could  have  challenged  his  reputation,  and  built  himself 


ROSSINI'S  CHARACTER  401 

one  no  less  universal,  and  that  was  Orgitano;  and  I  have  heard 
Rossini  speak  of  him  with  deep  sincerity  and  seriousness — which  is 
saying  a  great  deal.  Orgitano,  a  brilliant  young  man,  was  already 
promising  the  world  a  successor  to  Cimarosa,  when  he  was  carried 
off  in  the  flower  of  his  youth,  in  1803 — a  new  instance  of  the  dangers 
which  beset  a  genius.  "Genius"  depends  upon  a  nervous  system  of  a 
most  uncommon  pattern,  susceptible  of  recording  every  tremor  of 
passion,  its  violence,  its  fire,  its  unreason ;  but  beware  lest  this  same 
passion  should  consume  the  mind  and  body  in  which  it  dwells,  des 
troying  both  upon  the  very  threshold  of  life !  I  am  heartily  ashamed  of 
this  sentence,  which  would  sound  much  simpler  in  Italian. 

Paesiello,  in  Rossini's  frequently-expressed  opinion,  was  the  most 
inimitable  of  all  composers.  He  was  the  very  incarnation  of  purity, 
simplicity  and  naive  grace,  and  his  style  has  come  to  be  so  closely 
identified  with  his  own  personality  that  all  imitations  are  henceforth 
doomed  to  failure.  Paesiello  was  the  master  of  unparalleled  effects 
managed  with  unbelievable  simplicity,  alike  in  his  melody,  his  har 
mony  and  his  accompaniments;  and  in  Rossini's  view,  his  "simple 
melody"  is  now  forbidden  territory;  "You  have  only  to  start  work  on 
it,  and  before  you  know  where  you  are,  you  are  back  with  Paesiello,, 
imitating  him  without  even  being  aware  of  it."  Rossini  can  talk  with 
intimate  knowledge  of  all  the  greatest  composers ;  he  has  only  to  play 
a  score  through  once  on  the  piano  to  know  it  by  heart,  and  thereafter 
never  to  forget  it.  In  this  way,  he  has  made  himself  familiar  with 
everything  produced  by  all  the  many  generations  before  his  own;  and 
yet,  if  you  go  into  his  room,  you  will  never  see  a  scrap  of  music  save 
blank  manuscript  paper. 

Whatever  may  be  the  ultimate  verdict  of  posterity  concerning 
Rossini  and  his  work,  there  is  one  characteristic  which  can  never  be 
denied :  Rossini  is  as  unique  in  Ms  creative  facility  as  Paesiello  is 
unique  in  his  melodic  simplicity. 


CHAPTER  XLII 
Anecdotes 


I 


SHOULD  prefer  to  be  certain  that  my  readers  would  bear  in  mind 
that  this  book  is  nothing  but  a  straightforward  biography,  a  form  of 
literature  which  permits  the  inclusion  of  the  most  ignominious 
details,  before  I  record  the  following  typical  instance  of  Rossini's 
laziness.  On  one  extremely  cold  day,  during  the  winter  of  1813, 
Rossini  had  bivouacked  in  the  bed-chamber  of  a  very  ill-favoured  inn 
in  Venice,  and  was  composing  in  bed  to  avoid  the  expense  of  having 
a  fire.  As  he  finished  the  duet  he  was  working  on  (he  was  actually 
engaged  at  the  time  in  scoring  il  Figlio  per  azzardd),  the  sheet  of 
paper  slipped  out  of  his  fingers  and  fluttered  away  down  to  the  floor. 
Rossini  peered  over  the  edge  of  the  bed  to  try  and  locate  it — but  in 
vain,  for  it  had  slid  right  under  the*  bed  itself.  He  stretched  out  an 
arm,  and  leant  half  out  over  the  side  to  feel  for  it;  but  eventually, 
becoming  suddenly  conscious  of  the  cold,  he  withdrew  hurriedly 
under  the  blankets,  muttering  to  himself  as  he  did  so:  "I'd  rather 
sketch  the  whole  thing  out  again;  it  won't  take  a  minute — I  can 
remember  it  easily!"  Strangely  enough,  however,  his  mind  promptly 
went  a  complete  blank,  and  there  he  sat  for  a  good  quarter  of  an 
hour,  fuming  with  impatience,  but  obdurately  failing  to  recall  a 
single  note.  Finally  he  burst  out  laughing:  "I'm  a  fool",  he  said.  "I'd 
do  much  better  to  write  another  duet.  Wealthy  composers  can  have 
fires  in  their  rooms  if  they  choose,  but  I  have  my  own  private  form 
of  self-indulgence:  I  flatly  refuse  to  crawl  out  of  bed  to  go  groping 
after  errant  duets — and  in  any  case,  it  would  surely  bring  bad 
luck!" 

Just  as  he  was  putting  the  finishing  touches  to  the  second  duet,  a 
visitor  appeared,  "Would  you  mind  picking  up  a  duet  which  has 
slipped  under  the  bed?"  asked  Rossini.  The  visitor  retrieved  the  way 
ward  duet  with  his  cane,  and  handed  it  to  Rossini.  "Now  listen !"  said 
Rossini.  "I'm  going  to  sing  you  both  duets,  so  that  you  can  tell  me 
which  one  you  like  best.5'  The  young  composer's  friend  opted  for  the 


ANECDOTES  403 

original  one;  the  second,  it  appeared,  was  rather  too  lively  in  tempo 
for  the  dramatic  situation  (incidentally,  the  person  who  told  me  the 
story  assures  me  solemnly  that  there  was  not  the  slightest  similarity 
between  the  two  compositions);  so  on  the  instant  Rossini  wrote  a 
trio  for  the  same  opera,  and,  as  soon  as  it  was  ready,  struggled  into 
his  clothes,  swearing  all  the  while  against  the  cold,  and  accompanied 
his  visitor  down  to  the  Casino  to  get  warm  and  drink  a  cup  of  coffee 
— meanwhile  handing  duet  and  trio  together  to  the  waiter,  and  telling 
him  to  take  them  round  to  the  music-copyist  of  the  teatro  San-Mos&, 
for  which  he  was  working  at  the  time. 

If  you  like  Italy  and  things  Italian,  nothing  is  so  delightful  as 
Rossini's  conversation,  which  is  inimitable.  His  mind  is  all  fire  and 
quicksilver,  darting  here,  darting  there,  and  falling  upon  any  subject 
under  the  sun  to  cull  from  it  a  store  of  amusing,  accurate  and  gro 
tesque  observations.  There  is  scarcely  time  to  catch  the  gist  of  one 
idea,  before  another  comes  to  leap  upon  its  traces.  This  astonishing 
mental  agility  might  easily  become  an  object  of  curiosity  rather  than 
of  delight,  were  it  not  that  this  volcanic  surge  of  startling  ideas  is 
subject  to  constant  interruption  in  the  shape  of  charming  and  com 
paratively  restful  anecdotes.  Rossini's  incessant  travelling,  "twelve 
years  of  comings  and  goings",  as  he  calls  it  himself  in  referring  to  his 
own  career;  his  constant  intercourse  with  singers  and  actors,  the 
maddest  of  all  mankind,  and  with  the  pleasure-loving,  merry-making 
sections  of  the  aristocracy — all  this  has  furnished  him  with  an  in 
exhaustible  supply  of  the  weirdest  anecdotes  ever  collected  concern 
ing  that  poor  species  known  as  man.  "I  should  be  an  uncommon  fool 
to  tell  lies  and  invent  a  pack  of  nonsense,"  declares  Rossini,1  when 
ever  some  acrimonious  or  jealous  bystander  feels  inclined  to  spoil  the 
pleasure  of  the  company  by  challenging  the  truth  of  one  or  other  of 
his  anecdotes;  "My  profession  has  always  brought  me  into  contact 
with  every  kind  and  type  of  singer,  and  no  one  will  deny  that  singers 
are  temperamental,  the  men  as  often  as  the  women;  and  the  more  I 
grew  famous,  the  more,  and  the  odder,  were  the  exhibitions  of 

1  If  ever  it  should  please  Signer  Rossini  to  challenge  the  truth  of  any  statement 
contained  in  these  chapters,  I  retract  it  in  advance;  I  should  be  grievously  sorry  to 
be  thought  lacking  in  tact  or  delicacy  towards  one  for  whom  I  feel  the  most 
sincere  and  profound  respect.  I  recognize  only  one  aristocracy,  the  aristocracy  of 
genius;  to  whose  ranks  are  also  admitted  those  who  practise  the  higher  virtues. 
Occasionally  those  who  have  done  great  things,  or  who  possess  enormous  wealth, 
may  be  admitted,  as  a  sort  of  afterthought. 


404  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

temperament  to  which  I  have  been  subjected.  In  Padua,  I  was 
treated  to  the  indignity  of  being  made  to  come  and  caterwaul  in  the 
street  at  three  o'clock  in  the  morning  whenever  I  wanted  to  gain 
admission  to  a  certain  house  which  I  had  particular  reasons  for  wish 
ing  to  visit;  and  just  because  I  was  a  maestro  who  was  particularly 
vain  of  his  own  voice,  the  door  would  only  open  to  me  on  condition 
that  I  should  serenade  the  lady  publicly,  nocturnally  and  out  of  tune. 
At  different  times  I  have  met  in  my  room  (and  I  could  have  met  them 
waiting  in  my  ante-room,  if  I  had  had  one)  almost  all  the  wealthy 
amateurs  in  Italy,  of  the  kind  who  nearly  always  give  way  in  the  end 
and  turn  impresario  for  the  love  of  some  good-looking  prima  donna. 
Finally,  it  has  been  alleged  that  I  have  not  failed  altogether  to  win 
the  favours  of  the  fair  sex;  and  I  can  assure  you  that  the  ladies  in 
question  were  not  the  stupidest  of  the  species.  I  have  had  to  en 
counter  some  strange  rivalries;  I  have  changed  towns  and  changed 
friends  three  times  a  year  without  fail  ever  since  I  was  born;  and 
thanks  to  my  name  and  reputation,  I  have  met  and  grown  to  terms  of 
familiarity  with  everything  that  was  worth  while  meeting  and  know 
ing  anywhere  within  forty-eight  hours  of  my  arrival ...  etc.,  etc" 

It  is  Rossini's  undying  misfortune  to  be  constitutionally  disres 
pectful  towards  everything  except  genius;  he  is  prepared  to  humour 
no  one,  and  no  practical  joke  is  too  outrageous  to  be  brought  home 
to  him;  if  he  should  chance  to  fall  in  with  a  fool,  so  much  the  worse 
for  the  fool;  but  he  is  not  spiteful,  and  if  the  success  of  some  un 
dignified  stratagem  will  send  him  off  into  mad  fits  of  laughter,  he  will 
promptly  forget  all  about  it  an  instant  or  two  later.  On  one  occasion, 
in  Rome,  he  was  invited  to  sing  at  the  residence  of  some  cardinal  or 
other;  but,  just  as  he  was  preparing  to  begin,  a  train-bearer  sidled  up 
to  him,  and  insinuated  that  it  would  be  appreciated  if  he  were  to 
include  as  few  love-songs  as  possible  in  his  programme.  Rossini's 
immediate  reaction  was  to  give  an  entire  programme  made  up  of 
lewd  ditties  in  Bolognese  dialect,  which  no  one  understood — and 
then,  when  he  had  laughed  his  fill,  he  went  away  and  thought  of 
something  else.  Without  this  fertile  and  quick-witted  inventiveness, 
he  could  never  have  found  the  time  or  energy  to  produce  the  works 
which  in  fact  he  has  produced;  for  remember  that  he  has  never  con 
sidered  it  a  waste  of  time  to  enjoy  himself;  that,  being  poor,  he  has 
never  been  able  to  afford  the  least  help  in  the  routine-work  of  scoring ; 


ANECDOTES  405 

and  that,  in  spite  of  all  this,  he  has  composed  forty-four  operas  and 
cantatas,  and  is  still  not  thirty-two  years  old. 

Rossini  has  an  incredible  talent  for  mimicry,  and  no  one  is  safe 
from  him  in  this  respect.  He  is  able  to  send  the  company  into  fits  of 
laughter  by  picking  out  absurdities  of  gesture  and  appearance,  even 
among  those  of  his  acquaintance  who  would  seem  to  be  the  least 
precious  or  eccentric  in  their  behaviour.  Vestris,  the  greatest  comic 
actor  in  Italy,  and  perhaps  in  all  the  world,1  used  to  tell  him  that  he 
had  all  the  makings  of  a  first-class  actor.  Rossini  has  a  special  genius 
for  parodying  de'  Marini,  a  ranting  but  at  times  magnificent  actor, 
who  enjoys  the  foremost  reputation  in  all  Italy.  Whenever  Rossini 
sets  out  to  "take  off"  de'  Marini,  the  onlookers  are  first  reduced  to 
helpless  laughter  by  the  uncanny  resemblance  of  the  portrait,  and 
finally  deeply  moved — assuming,  of  course,  that  the  onlookers  are 
people  who  appreciate  the  sing-song  declamatory  style  of  the  French 
dramatic  tradition.  For,  just  as  Alfieri,  for  all  the  insults  which  he 
hurled  against  France,  proceeded  in  conscious  imitation  of  Racine 
and  Voltaire,  so  also  do  the  Italian  actors  "sing"  their  lines  in  imita 
tion  of  the  style  widely  popularized  by  the  French  theatrical  company 
which,  under  the  leadership  of  Mademoiselle  Raucourt  and  with  full 
imperial  patronage,  toured  Italy  in  or  about  the  year  1808.  They  have 
this  much  in  common  with  French  actors,  too:  they  excel  only  in 
comedy,  where  the  worst  excesses  of  the  declamatory  style  are 
restricted  by  the  speed  of  delivery.  Alone  among  the  Italians,  Vestris 
escapes  this  universal  plague  of  affectation,  and  he  fully  deserves  a 
wider  European  reputation  than  he  has  at  present.  I  have  deliber 
ately  set  down  two  or  three  of  these  scattered  ideas  in  this  chapter, 
because  they  very  frequently  cropped  up  in  arguments  between 
Rossini  and  one  in  particular  of  his  admirers — Rossini,  as  an  Italian 
patriot,  insisting  that  everything  in  Italy  was  perfect  (with  the  excep 
tion  of  one  or  two  obnoxious  and  unmentionable  individuals),  and 
that  any  foreigner  who  questioned  this  assertion  did  so  for  motives  of 
mean  and  dishonest  jealousy.  I  detect  in  this  attitude  a  certain 
resemblance  to  the  tone  adopted  by  le  Constitutionnel  and  le  Miroir, 
with  their  perpetual  bleating  about  Music  and  National  Honour.  In 

1  The  Italian  conception  of  comedy  consists  essentially  in  observing  the 
delusions  of  those  who  set  out  with  burning  ambitions,  and  get  lost  on  the  way  to 
their  fulfilment;  moreover,  the  goal  of  these  ambitions  does  not  consist,  invariably 
and  exclusively,  in  aping  the  manners  of  the  aristocracy. 


406  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

the  year  1820,  Rossini,  stimulated  by  the  violent  arguments  of  the 
Italian  romantics,  who  are  the  most  formidable  opponents  of  the 
declamatory  traditions  of  the  Italian  theatre,  was  persuaded  to  take 
part  in  a  comedie  bourgeoise1  in  Naples,  where  the  cast  included  a 
number  of  young  people  from  the  highest  ranks  of  society.  De* 
Marini  himself  was  among  the  audience,  and  agreed,  as  indeed  we  all 
did,  that  Rossini's  acting  was  extraordinary.  "He  still  needs  a  little 
practical  experience,"  said  de*  Marini,  "but  apart  from  that,  I  have 
never  seen 'a  more  realistic  performance.  I  doubt  if  there  are  two 
actors  in  the  whole  of  Italy  who  could  eclipse  him  in  any  part  he 
chose  to  play." 

Rossini  is  a  fair  poet,  and  can  turn  out  reams  of  doggerel  for  his 
own  operas  if  required;  and  many  a  time  he  has  toned  down  the  bom 
bastic  grandiloquence  of  various  libretti  seri  which  have  been  foisted 
on  him.  No  one  is  more  acutely  aware  of  the  ridiculous  possibilities 
of  the  typical  libretto,  and  often,  when  he  has  finished  an  aria,  he  will 
turn  to  his  friends  gathered  round  the  piano,  and,  taking  care  not  to 
sacrifice  a  single  pearl  of  its  grotesque  absurdity,  give  a  dramatic 
recital  of  the  fantastic  jargon,  whose  fame  and  fortune  he  has  just 
established  for  ever  through  the  medium  of  his  music — E  pero,  he 
once  exclaimed,  when  he  had  finished  laughing,  in  due  anni  questo  si 
camera  da  Barcelona  a  Pietroburgo:  gran  trinofo  della  musical*  By 
some  untutored  instinct,  rare  enough  in  the  land  where  he  was  born, 
Rossini  is  the  natural  enemy  of  bombast.  It  should  be  observed  that 
bombast  stands  in  the  same  relation  to  art  in  Italy  as  preciosity, 
affectation,  wit  and  studied  mannerisms  do  to  art  in  France.  All 
evidence  points  to  the  fact  that  Nature,  in  creating  Rossini,  had 
intended  to  enrich  the  world  of  music  with  a  perfect  genius  for  opera 
di  mezzo  carattere.  But  an  evil  fortune  decreed  that  he  should  travel 
to  Naples,  and  there  discover  that  the  reigning  queen  of  the  theatre 
was  Signorina  Colbran;  and  a  greater  misfortune  still  was  to  follow 
when  he  fell  in  love  with  her;  for  if  only,  instead  of  this  tragedy- 

1  A  type  of  drama  originally  inspired  by  writers  like  Lillo  and  Nivelle  de  la 
Chaussee  (of  the  comtdie  larmoyante).  It  was  popularized  in  France  by  Diderot 
and  Sedaine,  in  Germany  by  Lessing  and  his  followers,  and  was  strenuously 
advocated  by  the  ^re-romantics  as  an  antidote  to  the  meaninglessness  and  bom 
bast  of  degenerate  classical  tragedy.  It  was  melodramatic,  middle-class,  sentimen 
tal,  and — in  a  primitive  way — realist.  (Trans.) 

2  And  yet,  in  two  years5  time,  this  stuff  will  be  sung  from  Barcelona  to  St  Peters 
burg:  what  a  triumph  for  the  music! 


ANECDOTES  407 

heroine,  he  had  met  a  comic  actress,  la  Marcolini  for  example,  or  la 
Gafforini  in  the  flower  of  her  youth  and  beauty,  we  should  certainly 
have  had  less  of  the  Plagues  of  Egypt  and  infinitely  more  in  the  style 
of  la  Pietra  del  Paragone  and  Vltaliana  in  Algerl  But  it  is  our  duty  to 
make  ourselves  worthy  of  our  great  men,  and  so  we  should  school 
ourselves  to  appreciate  the  true  nobility  of  genius  despite  the  inevit 
able  blemishes  which  individual  passions,  social  conventions  and  the 
distorted  tastes  of  contemporary  audiences  have  imposed  upon 
Rossini's  work.  Are  we  to  think  less  of  Correggio,  because  the  more 
or  less  baroque  taste  of  the  worthy  ecclesiastics  of  his  time  com 
pelled  him  to  paint  nothing  but  cupolas,  and  to  present  great  portraits 
in  an  extraordinary  foreshortening  of  perspective,  di  sotto  in  sul 


A  FINAL  WORD 

Light,  lively,  amusing,  never  wearisome  but  seldom  exalted — 
Rossini  would  appear  to  have  been  brought  into  this  world  for  the 
express  purpose  of  conjuring  up  visions  of  ecstatic  delight  in  the 
commonplace  soul  of  the  Average  Man*.  The  sad,  sighing  beauty  of 
Mozart  has  a  quality  which  he  could  not  dream  of  emulating,  and  in 
the  field  of  comedy,  he  is  easily  outdistanced  by  Cimarosa;  neverthe 
less,  Rossini's  music  stands  unchallenged  for  its  speed,  its  vivacity 
and  its  excitement,  and  for  all  the  particular  effects  which  derive 
from  these  general  characteristics.  There  is  no  opera  buffa  quite  like 
la  Pietra  del  Paragone •;  there  is  no  opera  seria  quite  like  Otello  or 
la  Donna  delLago.  Otello  has  no  more  in  common  with  gli  Orazii  e 
Curiazii  than  it  has  with  Don  Giovanni;  it  is  a  work  on  its  own. 
Rossini  has  given  us  a  hundred  different  portraits  of  the  joys  of  love, 
and  one  at  least  (the  duet  from  Armida)  which  resembles  nothing  so 
much  as  dreamed  of  before;  he  has  occasionally  toyed  with  absurd 
ity,  but  he  has  never  been  boorish  or  platitudinous — not  even  in  the 
silly  little  dance-tune  from  the  finale  of  la  Gazza  ladra.  Finally, 
Rossini,  who  is  incapable  of  writing  twenty  lines  of  prose  without  a 
glowing  crop  of  howlers  ...  Rossini,  who  is  incapable  of  writing 
twenty  bars  of  music  without  betraying  the  overpowering  presence  of 
genius  ...  Rossini  has  become  indisputably,  since  the  death  of 
Canova,  the  greatest  living  artist  of  our  time.  As  to  the  verdict  of 
posterity — how  should  7  know? 


408  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

If  you  promise  to  keep  a  secret,  I  might  whisper  in  your  ear  that 
Rossini's  style  is  the  musical  embodiment,  not  so  much  of  France  as 
of  Paris:  it  is  not  really  merry,  but  it  is  supremely  vain  and  excitable; 
it  is  never  passionate,  but  always  witty;  and  if  it  is  never  boring,  it  is 
very,  very  rarely  sublime. 


i 


CHRONOLOGICAL  TABLE* 

of 

the  Works  of  Gioacchino  Rossini, 
born  in  Pesaro  on  the  29th  of  February,  1792 


N  August  1808,1  Rossini,  while  still  a  pupil  at  theLiceo  Musicale  in 
Bologna,  composed  a  sinfonia  and  a  cantata  entitled  IL  PIANTO 
D'ARMONIA. 

1.  DEMETRIOEPOLIBIO;  Rossini's  first  opera,  which,  accord 
ing  to  himself,  he  wrote  in  the  spring  of  1809,  but  which  was  not 
performed  until  [the  18th  of  May]  1812,  at  the  teatro  delta  Valle  in 
Rome,  where  it  was  sung  by  the  tenor  Mombelli,  Ms  two  daughters 
Marianna  and  Ester,  and  by  the  bass  Olivieri.  There  is  no  evidence, 
however,  to  prove  that  Rossini's  vanity  may  not  have  led  him,  in 
1812,  to  touch  up  the  music  here  and  there  in  the  light  of  his  greater 
experience.  Signor  Mombelli,  incidentally,  is  a  relation  of  Rossini. 
The  libretto  was  written  by  Signora  [Vincenzina]  Vigano  Mombelli, 
the  mother  of  Marianna  Mombelli,  who  is  to-day  Signora  Lambert- 
ini,  and  of  Signorina  Ester  Mombelli,  who  still  sings,  and  in  fact 
possesses  an  excellent  voice  (1817). 

2.  LA  CAMBIALE  DI  MATRIMONIO.farsa  (i.e.  comic  opera  in 
one  act),  Venice  1810,  written  for  the  stagione  delT  autunno?  This 

1  Music  in  Italy  is  born  and  dies,  and  leaves  no  memorial  of  its  passing;  I  have 
often  been  obliged  to  send  off  at  least  twenty  different  letters  in  an  attempt  to 
discover  the  exact  date  of  composition  of  any  given  opera;  and  frequently  the 
replies  I  have  received  have  suggested  three  or  four  equally  probable  alternatives. 
I  have  with  me  letters  from  which  I  may  deduce  that  Rossini's  opera  Ciro  in 
Babilonia,  for  instance,  received  its  first  performance  in  two  different  towns  and 
in  three  different  years.  In  view  of  these  difficulties,  I  must  beg  the  reader  to  be 
lenient,  and  to  forgive  an  error  of  detail  here  and  there;  for  to  have  produced  an 
accurate  history  of  Rossini,  fortified  at  every  point  against  criticism,  would  have 
taken  a  great  deal  more  time  than  I  have  had  at  my  disposal.  The  best  that  I  may 
hope  is  that  the  general  conclusions  which  the  Author  has  drawn  from  the  facts 
known  to  him  will  show  that,  within  the  limitations  of  his  own  processes  of 
thought  and  feeling,  the  interpretation  which  he  has  laid  upon  these  facts  is 
reasonably  correct*. 

This  table  should  be  compared  with  the  list  of  works  given  in  Appendix  n.  (Trans.) 

2  I  have  decided  to  leave  the  designations  of  the  Italian  theatrical  seasons  in 
the  original  language;  we  have  no  corresponding  convention,  and  therefore  any 
translation  would  be  necessarily  misleading.  As  has  already  been  mentioned, 


410  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

opera  was  the  first  of  Rossini's  works  to  receive  a  stage  performance : 
it  was  given  at  the  teatro  San-Mose  and  sung  by  Rosa  Morandi, 
Luigi  Raffanelli,  Nicola  de'  Grecis  and  Tommaso  Ricci. 

3.  UEQUIVOCO    STRAVAGANTE,    Bologna    1811,    autunno. 
Written  for  the  teatro  del  Corso.  Singers:  Marietta   Marcolini, 
Domenico  Vaccani,  Paolo  Rosich. 

4.  UINGANNO  FELICE,  Venice  1812,  carnovale;  teatro   San- 
Mose.  Singers:  Teresa  Belloc,  Rafaele  Monelli,  Luigi  Raffanelli, 
Filippo  Galli. 

Galli  enjoyed  an  immense  success  in  the  part  of  the  peasant 
Tarabotto,  the  leader  of  the  miners.  This  is  the  earliest  of  Rossini's 
works  to  find  a  permanent  place  in  the  general  repertoire.  It  contains 
a  celebrated  trio  written  for  Madame  Belloc,1  Galli  and  the  tenor 
Monelli*. 

5.  GIRO  IN  BABILONIA,  oratorio  [i.e.  opera  with  religious 
subject  whch  can  be  performed  in  Lent],  1812.  Written  in  Ferrara 
during  Lent,  and  first  performed  at  the  teatro  Communale   by 
Marietta  Marcolini,  Elisabetta  Manfredini,  Eliodoro  Bianchi  [and 
Vaccani]. 

6.  LA  SCALA  DI  SETA,  far sa,  Venice  1812,  primavera  [in  fact, 
autunno].  Performed  at  the  teatro  San-Mose  in  Venice  by  Maria 
Cantarelli,  Rafaele  Monelli  (tenor),  Tacci  and  de'  Grecis — the  latter 
an  excellent  buffo  cantante9  who  is  still  to  be  seen  on  the  stage  to-day 
(1823). 

7.  LA  PIETRA  DEL  PARAGONS,  Milan  1812,  autunno.  Per 
formed  at  la  Scala  by  Marietta  Marcolini  (prfma  donna),  Claudio 
Bonoldi  (tenor),  Filippo  Galli,  [Parlamagni  and  Vasoli]. 

8.  U OCCASIONS  FA  IL  LADRO  [or  il  Cambio  delta  Valigia], 
farsa,  Venice  1812,  autunno.  Sung  at  the  teatro  San-Mose  by  the 
beautiful  Graciata  Canonici  (who  has  since  become  the  mainstay  of 

the  operatic  companies  are  disbanded  after  each  season,  and  re-formed  for  the 
next.  The  stagione  del  carnovale  opens  on  the  26th  of  December;  the  primavera, 
on  the  10th  of  April;  and  the  autunno,  on  the  15th  of  August.  In  certain  cities,  the 
dates  of  the  autunno  and  primavera  are  subject  to  slight  variations;  while  Milan 
sometimes  has  an  additional  season,  the  autunnino.  But  the  Carnival  season 
begins  invariably  on  the  second  day  of  Christmas. 

1  Madame  Belloc  is  still  singing  (1823)  at  la  Scala,  and  with  great  success;  her 
voice  to-day  is  as  fine  as  it  was  ten  years  ago.  Madame  Belloc,  who  is  the  daughter 
of  a  Cisalpine  officer  who  had  been  banished  from  his  own  country,  began  her 
career  at  Bourg-en-Bresse  in  January  1800. 


LIST  OF  WORKS  411 

the  teatro  del  Fiorentini  in  Naples,  where  she  received  lessons  from 
Pellegrini);  by  the  excellent  buffo  Luigi  Pacini;  and  by  Tommaso 
Berti 

9.  IL  FIGLIO  PER  AZZARDO  [or  /  due  Bruschini],  farsa,  Venice 
1813,  carnovale.  Performed  by  Teodolinda  Pontiggia,  Tommaso 
Berti,  Luigi  RafFanelli  and  de'  Grecis.  Both  the  latter  are  first-class 
artists. 

10.  TANCREDI,  Venice  1813,  carnovale;  performed  at  the  teatro 
della  Fenice.  Opera  seria,  the  first  of  this  type  attempted  by  Rossini 
(except  Demetrfo  e  Polibio,  which  was  not  performed  until  1812). 
Sung  by  Signora  Malanotte,  Elisabetta  Manfredini,  [Bianchi]  and 
Pietro  Todran. 

11.  UHALIANA  IN  ALGERIA  Venice  1813,  estate  (summer). 
Sung  at  the  teatro  San-Benedetto  by  Marietta  Marcolini,  Serafino 
Gentili  (tenor),  [Rosich]  and  by  Filippo  Galli,  who  was  so  magnifi 
cent  in  the  famous  "oath-scene"  from  Act  II — the  scene  which  was 
censored  in  the  Paris  production  at  the  instigation  of  jealousy  aided 
and  abetted  by  prudishness. 

12.  A  URELIANO  IN  PALMIRA,  Milan  1814,  carnovale.  Performed 
at  the  teatro  della  Scala  by  Velluti,  Lorenza  Core£,  Luigi  Mari 
(tenor),  [Botticelli],  Giuseppe  Fabris,  Eliodoro  Bianchi  and  Filippo 
Galli.  Act  I  is  scored  at  a  much  higher  pitch  than  Act  II,  the  reason 
being  that  the  first  was  written  for  Davide,  who  then  caught  measles 
and  was  unable  to  sing;  whereas  the  second  was  written  for  Luigi 
Mari,  who  took  over  the  tenor  part  originally  destined  for  Davide. 
This  particular  company  is  one  of  the  most  outstanding  which  has 
ever  been  gathered  together  over  the  last  twenty  years.  Velluti  was 
popular  in  his  part,  but  the  opera  as  a  whole  was  a  failure,  and 
Rossini,  his  vanity  stabbed  to  the  heart,  decided  upon  a  change  of 
style. 

13.  IL  TURCO  IN  ITALIA,  Milan  1814,  autunno;  teatro  della 
Scala;  moderate  success  only.  Singers:  Signora  Festa  Maffei,  Davide, 
Galli,  la  Paccini  [and  Vasoli]. 

14.  SIGISMONDO,  Venice  1814,  teatro  della  Fenice.  In  spite  of 
my  most  earnest  endeavours,  I  have  been  unable  to  obtain  any 
details  about  this  opera  serfa.  Incidentally,  this  list  has  cost  me  the 
dreary  work  of  writing  over  a  hundred  letters  for  information; 
and  I  have  been  sent  specimens  of  music  purporting  to  belong  to 


412  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

Sigismondo  which  are  almost  worthy  of  Signora  Catalani's  tame 
composer,  Signor  Puccita!  [Singers:  la  Marcolini,  la  Manfredini, 
la  Rossi,  Bianchi  and  Bonoldi]. 

15.  ELISABETTA   REGINA   D'INGHILTERRA,   Naples  1815, 
autunno  [4th  October].  Sung  at  the  teatro  San-Carlo  by  Signorina 
Colbran,  Signorina  Dardanelli,  Nozzari  and  Garcia.  The  first  work 
of  Rossini's  Neapolitan  period. 

16.  TORVALDO  E  DORLISKA,  Rome  1816,  carnovale.  Sung  at 
the  teatro  della  Voile  by  Adelaida  Sala,  Donzelli  (tenor),  and  the  two 
excellent  bases  Galli  and  Rainiero  Remorini.  To-day  (1823)  Italy  can 
claim  four  first-class  basses :  La  Blache,  Galli,  Zuchelli  and  Remorini ; 
and,  running  closely  behind  them,  Ambrosi. 

17.  IL  BARBIERE  DI  SWIGLIA  [or  Almaviva;  or  I9 Inutile  pre- 
cauzione],  Rome  1816,  carnovale  [5th  February].  Performed  at  the 
teatro  Argentina   by   Signora   Giorgi    Righetti,    and  by  Garcia, 
B.  Botticelli,  [Vitarelli]  and  by  the  brilliant  buffo  Luigi  Zamboni, 
who  first  created  the  part  of  Figaro. 

18.  LA  GAZZETTA,  Naples  1816,  estate;  demi-failure.  Sung  at 
the  teatro  del  Fiorentini  by  two  buffo  singers  of  the  first  water,  Felice 
Pellegrini  and  Carlo  Casaccia  (the  Le  Brunei  of  Naples),  and  by 
Pellegrini's  pupil,  the  attractive  Margherita  Chabran. 

19.  OTELLO  [or  ilMoro  di  Venezia],  Naples  1816,  inverno  (winter) 
[4th  December].  Performed  at  the  teatro  del  Fondo  (a  charming, 
circular  theatre  which  serves  as  a  relief-theatre  to  the  San-Carlo)  by 
Isabella  Colbran,  Nozzari,  Davide,   [Cicimarro]  and  the  basso 
Benedetti. 

20.  LA  CENERENTOLA  [or  la  Bonta  in  trionfo],  Rome  1817, 
carnovale  [25th  January].  Given  at  the  teatro  della  Valle  by  Geltrude 
[Giorgi]  Righetti,  Catterina  Rossi,  [Yerni],  Giuseppe  de'  Begnis, 
[Vitarelli]  and  Giacomo  Guglielmi. 

21.  LA  GAZZA  LADRA,  Milan  1817,  primavera  [30th  May]. 
Sung  at  the  teatro  della  Scala  by  Teresa  Belloc,  Savino  Monelli, 
V.   Botticelli,   Filippo   Galli,   Antonio   Ambrosi   and   Signorina 
Galianis. 

22.  ARMIDA,  Naples  1817,  autunno.  Sung  at  the  teatro  San- 
Carlo  by  Isabella  Colbran,  Nozzari,   [Cicimarro,  Bonoldi]  and 
Benedetti.  Contains  the  famous  duet*. 

23.  ADELAIDA   DI  BORGOGNA    [or   Ottone],   Rome    1818, 


LIST  OF  WORKS  413 

carnovale.  Sung  at  the  teatro  Argentina  by  Elisabetta  Pinotti, 
Elisabetta  Manfredini,  Savino  Monelli  (tenor)  and  Gioacchino 
Sciarpelletti. 

24.  ADINA,  or  il  Califfo  di  Bagdad.  Rossini  sent  the  score  of  this 
opera  to  Lisbon,  where  it  was  performed  in  1818  at  the  Sao  Carlos 
Theatre. 

25.  MOSB  IN  EGTTTO,  Naples  1818.  Sung  during  Lent  at  the 
teatro  San-Carlo  by  Isabella  Colbran,  Nozzari,  [Benedetti,  Cici- 
marro],  and  Matteo  Porto,  whose  fine  bass  voice  registered  a  memor 
able  triumph  in  the  part  of  Pharaoh.  It  was  a  great  mistake  not  to 
have  offered  Porto  an  engagement  at  the  Theatre  Louvois. 

26.  RICCIARDO  E  ZORAIDE,  Naples  1818,  autunno.  Given  at 
the  teatro  San-Carlo  by  Isabella  Colbran,  [la  Pisaroni,  la  Manzi], 
Nozzari,  Davide,  Benedetti  [and  Cicimarro]. 

27.  ERMIONE,  Naples  1819.  Performed  during  Lent  at  the 
teatro    San-Carlo    by    Isabella    Colbran,    Rosamunda    Pisaroni, 
Nozzari  and  Davide.  The  libretto  is  based  on  Racine's  Andromaque. 
Rossini  has  attempted  to  imitate  the  style  of  Gluck,  and  the  char 
acters  are,  to  all  intents  and  purposes,  given  nothing  to  portray 
except  bad-temper.  Demi-failure. 

28.  ODOARDO  E  CRISTINA,  Venice  lSl99pr!mavera.  Performed 
at  the  teatro  San-Benedetto  by  Rosa  Morandi,  Carolina  Cortesi  (one 
of  the  most  beautiful  singers  who  has  appeared  on  any  stage  in 
recent  years),  Eliodoro  Bianchi  and  Luciano  Bianchi 

29.  LA  DONNA  DEL  LAGO,  Naples  1819  (4th  October).  Sung 
at  the  teatro  San-Carlo  by  Rosamunda  Pisaroni  (who  is  one  of  the 
ugliest  actresses  imaginable),  Isabella  Colbran,  [la  Manzi],  Nozzari, 
Davide,  [Orlandi]  and  Benedetti. 

30.  BIANCA  E  FALIERO  [or  //  Consiglio  del  tre\  Milan  1820, 
carnovale.  Sung  at  the  teatro  della  Scala  by  Carolina  Bassi  (the  only 
singer  whose  genius  approaches  that  of  Madame  Pasta),  Violante 
Camporesi,  Claudio  Bonoldi  and  Alessandro  de*  Angelis. 

31.  MAOMETTO  SECONDO,  Naples  1820,  carnovale.  Performed 
at  the  teatro  San-Carlo.  I  have  been  unable  to  procure  the  names  of 
the  cast  [la  Colbran,  la  Comelli  (Chaumel),  Nozzari,  Galli,  Bene 
detti],  but  I  have  heard  that  GaM  was  as  memorable  in  the  part  of 
Mahomet  as  he  had  been  as  Fernando  in  la  Gazza  ladra. 

32.  MATILDE  DI  SHABRAN  [or  Belezza  e  cuor  diferro],  Rome 


414  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

1821,  carnovale.  Given  at  the  teatro  Apollo,  which  is  the  only  ade 
quate  theatre  in  the  whole  of  this  great  city.  It  was  built  during  the 
French  occupation.  The  opera  was  performed  by  the  attractive 
Catterina  Lipparini,  by  Anetta  Parlamagni,  Giuseppe  Fusconi, 
Giuseppe  Fioravanti,  Carlo  Moncada,  Antonio  Ambrosi  and 
Antonio  Parlamagni. 

33.  ZELMIRA,  Naples   1822  [in  fact,  26th  December   1821], 
inverno;  sung  at  the  teatro  San-Carlo  by  Isabella  Colbran,  Nozzari, 
Davide,  Ambrosi,  Benedetti  and  Signorina  Cecconi. 

34.  SEMIRAMIDE,  Venice  1823,  carnovale  [February];  given  at 
the  teatro  della  Venice.  An  opera  in  the  German  style,  sung  by 
Signora  Colbran-Rossini,  Rosa  Mariani  (a  remarkable  contralto), 
Sinclair  (the  English  tenor),  Filippo  Galli  and  Lucio  Mariani. 

Rossini  has  also  composed  a  number  of  cantatas,  of  which  I  have 
been  able  to  trace  nine: 

1.  ILPIANTO  D'ARMONIA,  [llth  August],  1808,  performed  at 
the  Liceo  Musicale  di  Bologna.  This  is  Rossini's  earliest  work;  in 
style,  it  bears  resemblance  to  the  weaker  passages  ofTIngannofelice. 

2.  DIDONE  ABBANDONATA,  written  in  1811  for  Signorina 
Ester  MombellL 

3.  EGLE  E  IRENE,  Milan  1814,  written  for  the  Principessa 
Belgiojoso,  one  of  Rossini's  most  adorable  protectresses. 

4.  TETIEPELEO,  Naples  1816,  written  for  the  wedding  of  Her 
Royal  Highness,  Madame  la  Duchesse  de  Berri,  and  sung  at  the 
teatro  delFondo  by  Isabella  Colbran,  Girolama  Dardanelli,  Margher- 
ita  Chabran,  Nozzari  and  Davide. 

5.  [IGEA],  Naples  1819.  Cantata  for  [three]  voices  written  in 
honour  of  His  Majesty  the  King  of  Naples,  and  performed  at  the 
teatro  San-Carlo  [on  the  20th  of  February]  by  Isabella  Colbran, 
[Davide  and  Gio.-Bta.  Rubini]. 

6.  [PARTENOPE],  Naples  1819.  Cantata  performed  in  the  pres 
ence  of  His  Majesty  Francis  I  of  Austria  on  the  9th  of  May  1819, 
when  this  sovereign  paid  his  first  visit  to  the  San-Carlo.  The  cast  in 
cluded  Isabella  Colbran,  Davide  and  Gio.-Bta.  Rubini. 

7.  LA  RICONOSCENZA,  Naples  1821;  a  pastorale  for  four 
voices,  performed  on  the  17th  of  December  1821  at  the  San-Carlo,  on 
the  occasion  of  Rossini's  benefit-night.  Singers:  la  Dardanelli,  la 


LIST  OF  WORKS  415 

Comelli  (Chaumel),  Gio.-Bta,  Rubini  and  Benedetti.  On  the  follow 
ing  day,  Rossini  left  Naples  and  set  out  for  Bologna,  where  he 
married  Isabella  Colbran. 

8.  IL  VERO  OMAGGIO,  Verona  1822  [in  fact,  1823];  a  cantata 
performed  during  the  congress,  in  honour  of  His  Majesty  the 
Emperor  of  Austria.  It  was  sung  at  the  teatro  dei  Filarmonici  by  a 
young  and  very  beautiful  singer,  Signorina  Tosi,  the  daughter  of  a 
well-known  Milanese  lawyer,  and  by  Velluti,  Crivelli,  Galli  and 
Campitelii 

9.  A  Patriotic  Hymn,  Naples  1820. 

There  was  also  a  second  Patriotic  Hymn,  composed  in  Bologna  in 
1815*.  It  was  a  similar  crime  which  caused  Cimarosa  to  be  thrown 
into  prison. 

If  the  present  volume  runs  to  a  second  edition,  I  intend  to  cut  out 
the  larger  part  of  the  analyses  of  Otetto,  la  Gazza  ladra,  Elisabetta, 
etc.;  and  instead,  I  shall  insert  at  this  point  a  rapid  sketch  of  the 
abilities  and  achievements  of  all  living  composers  and  singers  of  both 
sexes  who  have  attained  to  any  degree  of  popularity  in  Italy. 

If  this  were  to  be  done,  the  present  volume  would  then  offer  a  com 
plete  survey  of  the  contemporary  scene  in  the  entire  field  of  Italian 
music.  I  should  probably  include  articles  of  some  length  upon 
Saverio  Mercadante*,  the  composer  of  EHsa  e  Claudia  and  of 
VApoteosi  d'Ercole;  upon  Caraffa,  the  composer  of  Gabriele  di  Vergyi 
upon  Pacini*,  who  has  written  a  superb  duet  for  le  Baron  de  Dols- 
hefm;  upon  Meyerbeer*,  Pavesi,  Morlacchi*  (to  whom  we  owe 
Isolina,  Corradino,  etc.}  and  others.  Unfortunately,  however,  all  these 
gentlemen  have  so  far  confined  their  talents  to  imitating  Rossini. 


i 


CHAPTER  XLIII 
The  Utopia  of  the  Theatre  Italien* 


T  is  quite  conceivable  that  this  or  that  young  man  of  twenty-six  or 
so,  who  is  now  reading  this  chapter,  will,  in  fifteen  years*  time,  have 
risen  to  be  a  Minister  of  State,  or  at  least  a  Trustee  of  the  Royal 
Opera  House. 

A  Minister  of  State  has  no  serious  concerns  outside  the  rise  and 
fall  of  the  stock-exchange  and  the  permanency  of  his  own  office.  It  is 
therefore  perfectly  futile  to  address  any  relevant  observations  to  His 
Excellency;  but  a  young  man,  who  has  just  spent  the  evening  pon 
derously  making  the  Grand  Tour  of  half  a  dozen  or  more  exclusive 
salons,  where  he  has  been  engaged  in  surreptitiously  smoothing  the 
way  for  his  own  eventual  rise  to  power,  may,  upon  returning  home, 
be  prevailed  upon,  by  the  sheer  boredom  of  having  nothing  better  to 
do,  to  open  a  book;  and  ah!  blessed  among  books  is  the  book  which 
is  opened  at  such  an  instant,  for  it  must  needs  be  fatuous  beyond 
believing  if  it  can  fail  to  gain  by  the  contrast ! 

Let  us  suppose,  therefore,  that  a  man  of  sense  and  ability  should 
become,  say,  Steward  of  the  Royal  Household;  here  are  some  of  the 
facts  and  arguments  which  I  could  wish  such  a  man  to  have  assimi 
lated  in  his  youth*. 

The  present  Board  of  Trustees  of  the  Opem-Bouffe  is  as  uncom 
municative  about  the  details  of  its  budget  as  though  this  were  a  vital 
state  secret.  The  only  fact  which  is  publicly  available  is  that  it  is 
entitled  to  an  annual  subsidy  of  120,000  francs,  payable  from  the 
Civil  List.  But  what  happens  to  this  subsidy?  Into  whose  pockets  is  it 
ultimately  absorbed?  Indiscreet  questions!  I  have  no  personal  con 
tact  with  the  Management  of  the  Opera-Bouffe;  consequently,  the 
figures  which  I  intend  to  quote  carry  no  authority  beyond  that  of 
common-sense  and  mathematical  probability.  If  the  Trustees  see  fit 
to  deny  the  validity  of  my  calculations,  they  will  of  course  realize  that 
the  only  incontestable  way  of  refuting  them  would  be  to  publish  the 
truth  in  fact  and  figure. 


THEATRE  ITALIEN  IN  PARIS  417 

The  box-office  receipts  on  an  average  day  vary  between  900  and 
1,800  francs.  We  can  assume,  therefore,  that  the  average  takings  at 
any  one  performance  will  be  about  1,200  francs;  there  are  three 
performances  a  week;  therefore  the  total  receipts  for  any  given  year 
will  amount  to  122,800  fr. 

The  charges  for  the  hiring  of  private  boxes  (which, 
since  the  changes  introduced  two  years  ago,  are  now 
all  let  out  on  an  annual  subscription  basis)  bring  in 
approximately  2,400  francs  for  each  performance, 
Le.9  an  annual  income  of  345,600  fr. 


Probable  total  annual  income          468,400  fr. 


BALANCE  SHEET 

showing  the  approximate  details  of  the  expenditure  of  the 
Opera-Bouffe1 

Salaries 

Mme   Pasta  (with  a  bonus  of  15,000  fr.)        ...        ...  35,000  fr. 

Miles  Buonsignori  20,000 

Cinti  15,000 

Mori  10,000 

deMeri  7,000 

Rossi  5,000 

Goria 4,000 

MM.  Garcia ...  30,000 

Zuchelli  ... 24,000 

Pellegrini 21,000 

Bordogni  ... 20,000 

Bonoldi  ...  18,000 

Levasseur ...  ...  ...  12,000 

Bonoldi,  Lodovico 6,000 

Graziani 8,000 

1  My  calculations  are  based  upon  the  budget  of  the  Theatre  Royal  (Italian 
Opera),  London.  These  figures  are  extremely  revealing.  The  total  expenditure  of 
the  London  company  amounts  to  1 ,200,000  fr.  I  have  also  had  access  to  the 
accounts  of  la  Scala,  Milan. 


418  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

Proffetti 6,000 

Auletta     4,000 

Barilli  (pro  ducer) 8,000 


Total  of  salaries  paid  out  to  singers    253,000  fr. 

Chorus  and  orchestra 80,000 

Costumes,  props  and  decor      55,000 


135,000  fr. 

Administrative  expenses,  heating  (a  field  for  rampant 
swindle !),  lighting,  fire-service,  watchmen,  etc.       . . .      60,000 


Approximate  total  expenditure 448,000  fr. 

Approximate  total  income        468,000 


Balance     20,000  fr. 


Assuming  that  these  figures  are  more  or  less  correct  (and  they  can 
not  be  seriously  inaccurate),  there  must  exist  a  credit  balance  of 
something  like  20,000  fr.  What  happens  to  the  profit?1-  And  what  is 
happening  to  the  annual  subsidy  of  120,000  fr.,  which  His  Majesty  is 
pleased  to  grant  to  the  Theatre  Italien,  which,  before  the  Revolution, 
used  to  be  the  Theatre  de  MONSIEUR!  I  defy  anyone  to  give  a  satis 
factory  answer  to  either  of  these  questions! 

The  most  urgent  need  is  to  rescue  the  Italian  opera  from  the 
clutches  of  its  most  implacable  enemies — a  Board  of  Trustees  com 
posed  wholly  of  French  musicians.  And  the  only  way  to  achieve  this 
is  to  run  the  opera  upon  a  contract-basis,  to  put  the  whole  organiza 
tion  upon  a  business  footing  by  auctioning  the  contract  to  the 
highest  bidder. 

It  is  essential  to  draw  up  a  document  specifying  the  articles  and 
conditions  of  the  contract,  based  preferably  upon  the  articles  and 
conditions  which  are  specified  in  all  contracts  entered  into  by  the 
teatro  della  Scala  in  Milan,  and  which,  under  Napoleon,  between 
1805  and  1814,  proved  perfectly  adequate. 

1  If  I  insist  upon  this  sum  of  20,000  fr.,  it  is  because  I  have  every  reason  to 
believe  that  the  factor  which  is  causing  the  junior  administrators  of  the  TMdtre 
Louvois  to  tear  their  hair  in  anguish  is  that,  in  actual  fact,  the  organization  should 
be  showing  a  profit. 


THEATRE  ITAUEN  IN  PARIS  419 

The  lessee  of  the  theatre  would  thus  undertake  to  adhere  to  all  the 
conditions  laid  down  in  his  contract.  II  Cavaliere  Petrachi,  sometime 
First  Secretary  to  the  Minister  of  Finance  of  the  Kingdom  of  Italy, 
and  in  whose  name  the  contract  of  la  Scala,  Milan,  was  held  for 
many  years,  became,  in  1822,  one  of  the  Senior  Trustees  of  the 
Italian  Opera  House  in  London.  He  is  an  expert  in  this  particular 
branch  of  financial  administration,  and  might  well  be  consulted  in 
order  to  help  put  the  new  organization  upon  a  firm  footing.  It  is 
very  probable  that  he  would  accept  a  post  at  the  Theatre  Louvois. 
Signor  Benelli  might  also  prove  distinctly  useful. 

The  first  condition  to  be  laid  down  by  the  terms  of  the  contract 
should  be  the  obligation  to  provide  Paris  with  ten  new  operas  every 
year,  eight  of  which  should  be  by  composers  still  living,  and,  among 
these  eight,  two  should  be  written  expressly  for  the  cast  of  this  par 
ticular  theatre. 

I  would  call  your  attention  to  the  fact  that  we  have  not  yet  seen  at 
the  Louvois  one  single  opera  composed  specifically  for  Madame  Pasta. 

The  second  condition  should  be,  that  the  contractor  is  required  to 
provide  forty  new  decors  every  year,  all  to  be  painted  by  artists  who 
have  had  an  absolute  minimum  of  two  years*  experience,  either  with 
la  Scala,  Milan,  or  else  at  laFenice,  Venice,  or  else  in  Turin.  Within  a 
maximum  period  of  eighteen  months  after  the  first  performance  at 
which  it  is  used,  every  set  must,  by  the  terms  of  the  contract,  be  either 
sold  or  broken  down.  (At  la  Scala,  a  decor  painted  by  Sanquirico  or 
Tranquillo  costs  400  fr. ;  the  same  thing  in  Paris  costs  3,000  fr.)  (A).1 

The  subsidy  which  His  Majesty  is  pleased  to  grant  for  the  pleasure 
of  all  music-lovers  in  his  capital,  and  indeed  throughout  Europe,2 
would  continue  to  be  paid  by  monthly  instalments  to  the  lessee  of  the 
Theatre  Italien;  but  it  would  be  paid  only  upon  the  recommendation 
of  a  Committee,  consisting  of  nine  outstanding  dilettanti  nominated 
by  a  Convocation  composed  of  all  the  lessees  of  boxes  in  the  theatre 
for  the  current  year.8 

1  See  notes  at  the  end  of  this  chapter.  (Trans.) 

2  The  burden  of  this  subsidy  should  be  borne  by  the  City  of  Pans,  whose 
inhabitants  receive  the  benefit  of  the  music,  and  which,  as  a  city,  profits  by  the 
attraction  of  some  ten  thousand  wealthy  foreigners  brought  annually  into  the 
country  as  the  indirect  result  of  this  grant. 

8  The  election  of  these  representatives  could  be  carried  out  in  the  simplest 
manner  possible  merely  by  placing  a  book  for  recording  nominations  and  votes 
in  the  Manager's  office. 


420  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

The  membership  of  this  committee  would  then  be  brought  up  to 
twelve  by  the  inclusion  of  two  members  of  the  Institut  de  France,  and 
of  one  lawyer,  all  three  nominated  by  Jhe  Minister.  The  entire  com 
mittee  would  be  renewed  annually,  the  Minister  retaining  the  option 
to  re-appoint  the  same  representatives  as  the  previous  year.  The 
lessees  of  the  boxes  would  also  have  the  right  to  re-elect  the  same 
candidates  (B). 

There  would  be  an  Annual  General  Meeting  on  the  20th  of 
December  each  year  (Le.9  coinciding  with  the  opening  of  the  Season), 
at  which  the  committee  would  be  required  to  render  a  report  to  the 
convocation  of  lessees  concerning  the  present  state  of  the  manage 
ment. 

The  contractor  would  have  the  right  to  engage  French  singers  if  he 
wished;  but  he  would  not  be  allowed  to  use  them  for  more  than  one 
part  in  each  opera.  We  have  a  right  to  demand  some  protection 
against  the  horror  of  performances  such  as  that  of  le  Nozze  dl 
Figaro  (13th  December,  1823),  at  which  we  underwent  the  indescrib 
able  experience  of  listening  to  five  French  voices  in  the  course  of  one 
single  evening — four  ladies,  Mesdemoiselles  de  Meri,  Cinti,  Buffardin 
and ,  and  one  gentleman,  Monsieur  Levasseur,  who  is,  funda 
mentally,  quite  a  competent  singer,  but  who  suffers  from  chronic 
nervousness,  a  characteristic  which  is  not  a  major  recommendation 
in  the  part  of  Almaviva.  A  further  clause  relating  to  this  condition: 
the  lessee  may  engage  French  singers,  but  at  an  annual  salary  not 
to  exceed  6,000  fr.  (C). 

The  "watch-committee"  would  meet  on  the  24th  of  each  month, 
and  would  then  hand  the  lessee  a  voucher  for  the  payment  of  the  next 
instalment  of  the  subsidy  only  on  condition  that  he  should  be  able  to 
show  that,  during  the  previous  month,  he  should  faithfully  and 
zealously  have  fulfilled  the  terms  of  his  contract.  A  balance-sheet 
showing  the  box-office  receipts  for  each  separate  performance  should 
be  submitted  to  the  scrutiny  of  the  committee,  which  should  addition 
ally  have  the  right  to  demand  an  individual  report  upon  the  voice  and 
zeal  of  each  singer.  The  contractor  would  be  under  an  obligation 
to  furnish  the  committee  with  any  information  which  it  might 
require. 

For  this  system  to  be  perfect,  the  permanent  company  should  be 
required  to  give  two  performances  a  month  from  their  Italian  reper- 


THEATRE   ITALIEN  IN  PARIS  421 

toire  at  the  Grand  Opera.  All  actors  who  took  part  in  these  perform 
ances  should  receive  a  special  bonus  or  fee  (D). 

The  great  disadvantage  of  any  plan  such  as  that  which  I  have  here 
sketched  merely  in  roughest  outline  is  that,  by  the  time  it  had  been  in 
operation  for  twenty  years  or  so  at  the  Theatre  Italien.,  the  Opera- 
Fran$ais  would  fall  into  disuse,  and  the  stage  at  the  rue  Le  Peletier 
would  be  handed  over  entirely  to  companies  performing  Italian 
operas  in  two  acts,  with  a  ballet  in  the  interval — in  fact,  just  as  in 
Naples ! 

When  a  Minister  personally  takes  it  into  his  head  to  draw  up  a  set 
of  rules  and  regulations  for  something  or  other,  his  primary  motive  is 
usually  a  sudden  fit  of  vanity;  he  is  nearly  always  full  of  good  inten 
tions;  and,  were  it  not  for  his  unrelieved  ignorance  of  all  questions 
remotely  related  to  the  main  problem  involved,  he  might  almost 
succeed  in  making  his  rules  both  just  and  efficient  But  the  invariable 
weakness  of  all  such  high-handed  administrators  lies  in  their  in 
ability  to  cope  with  detail.  In  the  case  of  the  regulations  governing  the 
various  opera-houses,  the  signatures  required  to  implement  any 
particular  decision  are,  in  normal  practice,  invariably  either  given  or 
refused  in  circumstances  amounting  to  total  irresponsibility,  and 
obtained  exclusively  through  intrigue,  persistence  and  back-stairs 
manoeuvring.  Say  that  the  mistress  of  some  theatre-manager  should 
be  ill-fated  enough  to  sing  out  of  tune;  or  rather,  suppose  that  an 
audience  should  from  time  to  time  dare  to  show  its  opinion  of  this 
same  manager  by  whistling  at  his  productions — what  better  reason 
could  any  "administrator"  wish  for  as  an  excuse  to  do  everything  in 
his  power  to  ruin  some  rival  theatre  where  the  standard  of  singing  is 
higher  than  he  would  like  to  see? 

But  under  the  lessee-system,  those  who  control  the  fortunes  of  the 
theatre,  far  from  being  concerned  primarily  to  perpetuate  abuses, 
would  have  a  present  and  active  interest  in  reforming  abuses.  The 
reason  for  this  miraculous  transformation  is  obvious;  for,  under  the 
new  plan,  no  one  would  feel  the  charming  repercussions  of  such 
abuses  more  acutely  than  the  lessee  himself;  in  which  case,  the 
management  could  have  no  interest  nearer  its  heart  than  the  some 
what  ascetic  one  of  making  things  as  awkward  as  possible  for  all 
exploiters  of  abuses.  It  is  perfectly  clear  that  the  appointment  of  a 
"watch-committee"  nominated  from  among  the  box-holders  in  any 


422  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

given  season  would  expose  the  management  of  the  Opera-Bouffe  to 
the  powerful  forces  of  public  opinion.  And  of  course,  once  a  par 
ticular  artist,  or  a  particular  decor,  had  been  passed  with  the  approval 
of  the  committee,  the  members  of  that  committee  would  necessarily 
be  transformed  overnight  into  twelve  fervid  apostles  all  on  fire  with 
the  urge  to  justify  in  the  eyes  of  the  wider  public  the  decisions  which 
they  have  taken.  It  will  certainly  be  objected  that  my  proposal  is 
tainted  with  republicanism',  I  can  only  reply  that  a  similar  system  has 
been  in  operation  for  many  years  in  a  country  which  is  most  in- 
controvertibly  despotic  in  character,  but  whose  inhabitants  have  a 
deep  and  passionate  love  of  music— in  the  Austrian  city  of  Vienna 


NOTES 

upon  the  preceding  chapter 
supplied  by  a  sometime  Theatrical  Administrator.1 

A,  The  simplest  solution,  which  would  be  to  offer  a  direct  engage 
ment  to  Sanquirico  and  one  of  his  pupils,  offering  him  so  much,  either 
per  annum,  or  else  for  each  separate  decor,  would  already  effect  a  con 
siderable  saving.  I  think  that,  at  this  point,  a  word  or  two  should  be 
inserted,  pointing  out  the  immense  superiority  of  the  Italian  theatrical 
sets  compared  with  our  own,  and  adding  a  few  precise  details  about  the 
difference  in  cost.  For  instance,  if  it  could  be  established  as  a  fact  that 
the  decor  for  la  Lampe  merveilleuse  cost  100,000  fr,9  and  that  the 
same  number  of  flats,  or,  generally  speaking,  the  same  set,  would  have 
cost  no  more  than  12,000  fr.  in  Milan;  and  if  it  could  be  further  estab 
lished  that,  from  an  aesthetic  point  of  view,  the  Italian  decor  would 
have  been  infinitely  superior,  I  believe  that  nothing  more  would  be  re 
quired  to  convince  any  reader  unless  he  had  a  personal  axe  to  grind. 
But  how  many  people  seem  to  have  an  active  interest  in  concealing  the 
very  abuses  which  lam  trying  to  expose!  I  suggest  that  M.  Aumer,  the 
composer  of  the  ballet  Alfred  le  Grand,  might  be  asked  about  the  cost 
0/decor  in  Milan. 

If  patriotic  considerations  make  the  engagement  of  Sanquirico  him 
self  out  of  the  question,  why  not  engage  Daguerre?  He  is  sufficiently 

1  These  notes  were  added  in  pencil  to  the  margin  of  my  original  MS.,  and  I 
have  decided  to  leave  them  exactly  as  they  stood. 


THEATRE   ITALIEN  IN  PARIS  423 

talented — and  incidentally  he  should  be  instructed  to  use  size-paint  and 
not  oil-paint;  also  that  every  decor  should  be  laid  aside  after  it  has 
served  for  a  hundred  performances.  There  is  an  unpleasant,  cheese 
paring  flavour  about  the  Parisian  theatres  in  their  attitude  towards  the 
public.  In  Italy,  all  scenery  is  touched  up  after  forty  performances  at 
the  very  most,,  often  after  three  days. 

The  new  ventilator  recently  installed  at  the  Louvois  cost  38,000  fr.9 
and  one  still  gets  a  head-ache  within  an  hour.  I  should  be  curious  to  see 
the  detailed  accounts  of  this  expenditure  of  38,000  fr.  The  swindling 
which  goes  on  over  the  purchase  of  logs  for  the  heating-system  is  per 
haps  still  more  fantastic.  The  best  thing  would  be  to  install  twenty  ther 
mometers,  and  to  get  the  police  to  see  that  they  were  kept  up  to  a  given 
level,  determined  in  relation  to  the  temperature  in  the  street  outside. 
Why  do  they  need  to  light  the  stoves,  for  instance,  when  the  temperature 
outside  is  not  lower  than  50  degrees?  Heating  by  gas  is  extremely 
efficient. 

B.  Since  the  French  tend  to  behave  rather  like  a  flock  of  sheep  in 
anything  to  do  with  the  theatre,  this  plan  for  the  organization  of  a 
"watch-committee"  should  be  supported  by  a  number  of  examples 
showing  the  system  already  in  action,  and  the  Author  should  point 
out  that,  from  time  immemorial,  the  Court  Theatre  of  Turin,  one  of 
the  most  important  in  Italy,  has  been  managed  by  a  Commission  of  the 
Nobility  (del  cavalieri),  the  members  of  which  fulfil  approximately  the 
same  functions  as  the  Author  has  thought  fit  to  attribute  to  the  one- 
year9  s-lease  box-holders  at  the  Louvois.  I  believe  that  the  same  is  true 
of  the  teatro  Communale  at  Bologna,  the  most  important  theatre  in  the 
city.  Similarly,  the  teatro  della  Pergola  in  Florence  is  subject  to 
inspection  by  a  Committee  of  Notables,  and  I  have  heard  that  the  same 
practice  prevails  in  several  other  Italian  towns.  The  King's  Theatre, 
London,  is  controlled  by  members  of  the  Aristocracy,  who  let  it  out  on 
contract.  There  is  nothing  in  the  Authofs  proposal  which  is  not  emi 
nently  reasonable,  or  which  has  not  been  tried  out  elsewhere  over  a 
number  of  years,  with  the  most  satisfactory  results.  Incidentally,  the 
names  of  those  responsible  for  the  management  of  the  Italian  Opera 
House  in  London  for  the  year  1824  are  as  follows: 

Lord  Hertford, 

LordLowther, 


424  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

Lord  Aylesford, 
Lord  Mountedgecumb* 
and  a  Sicilian  gentleman,  Count  Santantonio. 

Between  1778  and  1788,  the  contracting  impresari  o/la  Scala  in 
eluded  the  Count  of  Castelbarco,  the  Marquis  Fagnani,  the  Marquis 
Calderara  and  Prince  Rocca-Sinibalda.  At  present,  however,  it  has 
become  more  usual  to  commission  an  agent  and  have  the  contract  held 
in  his  name  (testa  di  ferro). 

C.  If  it  is  thought  desirable  that  the  taste  for  Italian  music  should  be 
perfected  in  France,  the  Conservatoire  should  create  posts  for  two 
teachers  of  Italian  vocal  music,  and  organize  a  course  in  this  subject;  it 
should  also  appoint  a  teacher  of  Italian  language  and  dramatic  diction. 
Pellegrini  orZuchelli  would  be  invaluable  as  teachers  of  singing;  but 
I  have  no  doubt  that  we  should  soon  enough  see  some  Frenchman 
appointed  to  teach  Italian  vocal  music!  I  am  fully  persuaded  that  if  the 
Conservatoire  de  Paris  were  to  appoint  Italian  teachers,  it  would  soon 
produce  the  most  distinguished  pupils,  who  could  then  be  sent  abroad 
to  spend  two  or  three  years  on  the  Italian  stage  and  to  perfect  their  tech 
nique,  as  happened  in  the  case  of  our  own  Madame  Mainvielle-Fodor. 
It  would  be  best  to  place  three  or  four  Peers  of  France,  wealthy  men  dis 
tinguished  for  their  love  of  music,  in  control  of  the  Conservatoire. 

Another  idea  would  be  to  send  out  scouts  into  the  southern  provinces 
of  France,  particularly  into  the  region  of  the  Pyrenees,  to  recruit  any 
children  between  the  ages  of  twelve  and  fifteen  who  show  evidence  of 
being  potential  singers.  There  is  no  reason  on  earth  why  nature  should 
have  bestowed  finer  voices  south  of  the  Alps  than  in  the  southern  terri 
tories  of  France}-  The  only  difference  is,  (i)  that  the  average  Italian 
twelve-year-old  lives  in  a  perpetual  atmosphere  of  good  singing, 
whether  in  church  or  in  the  street;  and  (ii)  that  he  hears  the  gift  of  a 
good  voice  praised  loudly  above  all  other  gifts. 

D.  Obviously  it  is  desirable  that  the  Grand  Opera  should  make  way 
for  two  performances  a  month  of  Italian  opera;  but  the  senior  Adminis 
trative  board  would  never  consent  in  a  thousand  years.  Before  a  single 

1  All  honour  should  be  paid  to  Monsieur  Choron,  who  has  made  immense 
sacrifices  for  no  other  motives  than  a  disinterested  love  of  music.  Any  Minister  of 
the  Interior  who  was  in  the  least  jealous  of  his  good  name  and  the  reputation  of 
Ms  office,  should  offer  adequate  protection  to  so  genuinely  patriotic  a  citizen. 


THEATRE    ITALIEN  IN  PARIS  425 

year  (and  not  twenty!)  had  elapsed,  the  Opera  Frangais  would  have 
been  ridiculed  out  of  existence  and  abandoned  for  ever}-  Still,  the 
project  might  be  presented  as  a  means  of  increasing  the  receipts  of  the 
Grand  Opera;  or  alternatively,  as  a  means  of  covering  unusually  high 
costs  at  the  Opera  Comique. 

K  I  think  that  the  chapter  should  be  concluded  by  suggesting  a  way 
of  saving  the  Theatre  Italien,  which,  in  my  own  personal  opinion,  could 
not  fail;  and  that  is,  simply  to  offer  Rossini  a  two-year  engagement,  on 
condition  that  he  should  write  three  operas  a  year  for  that  particular 
theatre.  If  the  terms  offered  were  at  all  reasonable,  Rossini  would  un 
questionably  accept.  He  could  also  compose  for  the  Grand  Opera  and 
for  the  Theatre  Feydeau.  For  the  latter  theatre,  he  could  turn  out  a  new 
opera  every  week,  and  make  a  fortune  out  of  it.  Everybody  knows  that 
even  Nicolo  was  making  30,000  fr.  a  year  this  way,  so  you  can  imagine 
what  it  would  be  like  with  Rossini. 

If  Rossini  were  to  come  and  settle  in  Paris,  it  would  add  enormously 
to  the  prestige  of  the  Theatre  Louvois  abroad;  well-known  singers 
would  squabble  a  pugni/or  contracts,  and  the  company  would  be  ade 
quately  filled  in  no  time  at  all.  Signor  Caraffa,  who  is  living  in  Paris, 
and  whose  Gabriele  di  Vergy  rivalled  the  popularity  of  Rossini's 
Elisabetta  for  two  years  on  end,  would  then  consent  to  work  for  the 
Louvois ;  and  if  at  last  Paris  should  begin  to  develop  a  taste  for  new  and 
original  music,  the  fortunes  of  the  Theatre  Italien  would  then  be  estab 
lished  upon  unshakeable  foundations.  Italian  librettists  would  be 
granted  royalties  up  to  half  of  what  is  paid  to  the  authors  of  the  musical- 
comedies  normally  played  at  the  The§tre  Feydeau;  at  which  price  you 
could  command  the  most  distinguished  writers  in  all  Italy? 

Productions  of  Rossini's  own  works  which  are  already  on  the  reper 
toire  would  benefit  enormously  from  the  actual  presence  of  the  maestro, 
whose  eye  would  detect  a  vast  number  of  blemishes  in  performance, 
such  as  unjustified  distortions  of  tempo  by  the  orchestra,  unwarranted 
hullabaloo-ing  by  same  orchestra,  etc.,  etc.  Our  perennial  floating 

1  In  1823,  the  Grand  Opfra  company  is  technically  incompetent  to  perform  a 
quartet  from  la  Gazza  ladra  or  Camilla;  the  consequence  is  simply  that  the  takings 
of  the  theatre  do  not  amount  to  a  third  of  its  running-expenses. 

2  I  am  personally  aware  of  the  existence  of  four  or  five  libretti  (both  serie  and 
buffe)  by  Signor  Pellico,  the  finest  living  Italian  tragic  dramatist,  who  is  at  present 
imprisoned  in  the  fortress  of  Spielberg.  To  my  mind,  they  are  masterpieces,  filled 
with  magnificent  dramatic  situations  drawn  in  bold  and  sweeping  lines. 


426  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

population  of  idlers  would  grow  prodigiously  infatuated,  with  due  and 
beneficial  repercussions  at  the  box-office.  If  economy  dictates  that 
Rossini  should  not  only  be  paid,  but  paid  generously,  without  costing 
the  theatre  a  penny,  let  all  premieres  of  his  operas  be  held  as  author's- 
benefit performances  at  the  me  Le  Peletier.  At  a  rate  of  three  operas  a 
year,  this  would  give  an  annual  income  of  45,000  fr.  Add  to  this 
concerts,  incidental  music  written  for  the  Theatre  Feydeau,  and  profits 
from  the  sale  of  his  music,  which  in  Italy  is  sheer  piracy,  but  which,  here 
in  France,  is  an  extremely  lucrative  business — the  total  annual  income 
from  all  this  could  scarcely  drop  below  the  figure  of  60,000  fr. 

F.  Singers  who  might  with  advantage  be  offered  contracts. 
First  and  foremost,  of  course,  Madame  Mainvielle  [-Fo dor].  She 
sings  exceedingly  well,  and  she  has  the  additional  qualification  of  being 
French.  Many  people  disapprove  of  the  Louvois  from  patriotic  motives. 
Messieurs 
Davide,  tenore 
Donzelli,  tenore 
Lablache,  buffo  cantante 
De*  Begnis,  buffo  comico 
Ambrosi,  basso 
Curioni,  tenore  (an  extremely  handsome  man,  which  is  something 

that  never  comes  amiss  in  a  singer). 
Luigi  Man,  tenore  (who  sang  most  excellently  in  Aureliano  in 

Palmira  in  Milan  in  1814). 
Mesdames 
Pisaroni,  contralto 

Schiassetti*,  prima  donna  (at  present  in  Munich) 
Dardanelli,  prima  donna  buffa 
Schiva 
Fabbrica 

Ronzi  de'  Begnis,  prima  donna  buffa 
Mariani,  contralto  (excellent) 
Mombelli,*  prima  donna 

There  are  a  number  of  others  as  well,  who  have  made  their  debut 
within  the  last  year  or  two,  but  whose  reputation  has  not  yet  crossed  the 
Alps.  Signor  Benetti,  who  is  one  of  the  lessees  of  the  King's  Theatre, 
London,  is  at  present  (October  1823)  in  Italy,  recruiting  new  singers. 


THEATRE   ITALIEN  IN  PARIS  427 

We  suffer  considerably  from  the  lack  of  so  skilled  an  agent  as  Signor 
Benelli;  likewise  from  that  of  a  general  manager  of  the  character  of 
Signor  Petrachi.  This  Venetian  nobleman,  himself  the  owner  of  the 
teatro  San-Luca,  might  well  give  us  profitable  advice;  London  did  not 
disdain  to  consult  the  Marchese  diSantantonio. 


CHAPTER  XLIV 

Of  the  material  Circumstances 
which  affect  the  Life  of  the  Theatre  in  Italy 

±  HERE  are  in  Italy  two  theatres  of  major  importance:  la  Scala  in 
Milan  and  the  San-Carlo  in  Naples.  Their  dimensions  are  not  dis 
similar,  la  Scala  being  only  a  few  feet  narrower  than  the  San-Carlo; 
and  since,  to  derive  enjoyment  from  listening  to  music,  the  first  con 
dition  is  to  achieve  a  state  of  imperturbable  indifference  concerning 
the  figure  one  cuts  and  the  part  one  plays  in  the  eyes  of  others,  and 
since  the  second  condition  is  to  feel  perfectly  at  ease,  it  was  a  stroke 
of  genius  to  have  divided  up  the  bulk  of  the  auditorium  into  a  hive 
of  private  and  completely  independent  boxes.  Certain  hypocritical 
travellers,  such  as  Eustace  and  others  of  the  same  kidney,  have  not 
hesitated  to  imply  that  there  were  very  imperious  motives  behind  this 
general  practice  of  wishing  to  be  screened  from  public  curiosity 
during  a  performance;  but  the  fact  is  that  these  desiccated  philistines 
were  simply  too  insensitive  to  realize  that  a  certain  degree  of  private 
self-communion  is  essential  to  savour  the  sublimest  charms  of  music. 
In  any  case,  a  woman  in  Italy  is  always  accompanied  into  her  box  by 
five  or  six  other  persons ;  her  box,  in  fact,  is  a  salon  where  she  receives 
her  acquaintance,  and  where  her  friends  may  call  to  pay  their  compli 
ments  as  soon  as  they  see  her  arrive,  escorted  by  her  lover. 

The  teatro  detta  Scala  can  hold  three  thousand  five  hundred  spec 
tators  with  the  greatest  of  ease  and  comfort;  and  there  are,  if  I 
remember  rightly,  two  hundred  and  twenty  boxes*,  each  seating1 

1  If  anyone  decides  to  build  a  proper  theatre  in  Paris  (and  the  problem  will 
inevitably  have  to  be  faced  within  the  next  thirty  years),  precise  details  concerning 
the  architecture  and  dimensions  of  la  Scala  can  be  found  in  a  book  by  Signor 
Landriani,  published  in  Milan  in  1819.  The  facade  is  greatly  inferior  to  that  of  the 
San-Carlo  theatre;  the  corridors  are  narrow  and  ill-ventilated,  and  the  inclination 
of  the  pit  is  insufficient;  but  with  these  few  qualifications,  la  Scala  is  still  the  finest 
theatre  in  the  world.  The  ideal  theatre  would  stand  in  a  block  of  its  own,  like  the 
Theatre  Favart;  and  it  would  be  surrounded  on  all  four  sides  by  arcades,  similar 
to  those  in  the  rue  Castiglione.  Such,  I  believe,  is  the  construction  of  the  State 
Theatre  in  Moscow,  which,  however,  the  Author  only  visited  for  one  day.  This 
simple  architectural  device  allows  a  hundred  carriages  to  draw  up  simultaneously 
and  without  congestion. 


THE  LIFE  OF  THE  THEATRE  429 

three  people  in  front,  in  a  position  to  watch  the  stage;  but,  except  at 
premieres,  there  are  never  more  than  two  people  occupying  these 
seats,  the  escorted  lady  and  her  recognized  gallant  and  servitor,  while 
the  remainder  of  the  box,  or  rather  salon,  may  contain  anything  up  to 
nine  or  ten  persons,  who  are  perpetually  coming  and  going  all  the 
evening.  Silence  is  observed  only  at  premieres;  or,  during  subsequent 
performances,  only  while  one  or  other  of  the  more  memorable  pass 
ages  is  being  performed.  Anyone  who  wishes  to  concentrate  on 
watching  the  opera  right  through  from  beginning  to  end  goes  and  sits 
in  the  pit,  which  is  vast,  and  luxuriously  equipped  with  benches  fur 
nished  with  back-rests,  where  the  spectator  can  make  himself  exceed 
ingly  comfortable—so  comfortable,  indeed,  that  serious-minded 
English  travellers  have  been  known  to  count  up  to  twenty  or  thirty 
persons  sprawling  across  two  benches  each,  and  soundly  asleep!  The 
normal  practice  is  to  subscribe  to  a  season-ticket.  A  seat  in  the  pit 
costs  approximately  My  centimes  a  performance.  The  boxes  are  not 
owned  by  the  theatre,  but  are  the  private  property  of  individuals,  and 
are  let  out  on  independent  leases.  Today,  the  lease  of  a  reasonably 
comfortable  box  at  la  Scala  may  cost  about  60  louis  a  year;  in  the 
golden  age  of  prosperity  which  once  reigned  in  the  Kingdom  of  Italy, 
they  used  to  cost  up  to  200  louis.  The  actual  purchase  price  of  a  box 
ranges  from  18,000  to  25,000  fr.,  depending  upon  the  tier  in  which  it 

I  could  show  you  a  magnificent  site,  eminently  suitable  for  a  theatre  which 
should  be  worthy  of  the  Capital  of  Europe,  and  indeed  of  the  entire  world,  facing 
the  Boulevard  de  la  Madeleine,  between  the  rue  du  Faubourg  Saint-Honor^  and  the 
rue  de  Surene. 

If  you  desire  to  build  a  smaller  theatre,  ideally  suited  for  music,  I  would  suggest 
that  the  teatro  Carcano  in  Milan  might  well  serve  as  a  model,  but  with  the  addi 
tion  of  thQ  facade  from  the  municipal  theatre  of  Como.f 

But  if  you  want  to  construct  a  rather  bigger  theatre,  then  nothing  could  be 
prettier  than  the  delightful  example  which  is  to  be  found  in  Brescia  (prettiness  in 
Italy  becomes  magnificence  in  France;  whereas  beautiful  Italian  architecture  tends 
to  strike  the  typical  Frenchman  as  rather  depressing).  On  the  other  hand,  if  you 
want  a  positively  tiny  theatre,  I  would  suggest  that  the  ideal  is  to  be  found,  either 
in  Volterra  or  else  in  Como.  There  is  no  law  against  plagiarism  in  architecture, 
unless,  of  course,  our  own  architects  should  prohibit  it  from  motives  of  patriotic 
sentiment.  Signor  Bianchi,  an  architect  from  Lugano,  has  created  a  series  of 
superb  designs  for  theatres;  it  was  he  who  restored  the  San-Carlo  in  1817. 

t  Signor  Canonica,  himself  a  celebrated  architect  who  has  designed  several 
theatres  in  Lombardy,  once  maintained,  in  the  course  of  a  conversation  at  which 
I  was  present,  that  the  laws  of  acoustics  are  still  largely  undiscovered.  The  teatro 
Carcano  in  Milan  has  proved  to  be  ideal  for  music,  and  the  acoustics  are  infinitely 
better  than  in  the  teatro  Re;  yet  both  were  built  with  the  same  skill  and  care  by 
the  same  architect,  Signor  Canonica  himself.  The  auditorium  of  the  rue  Le 
Peletier,  which  is  built  entirely  of  wood,  is  extraordinarily  resonant. 


430  LIFE^OF  ROSSINI 

is  situated.  Boxes  in  the  second  tier  are,  generally  speaking,  the  most 
convenient,  and  therefore  the  most  expensive. 

The  teatro  San-Carlo*  in  Naples  was  restored  with  unparalleled 
magnificence  in  1817  under  the  direction  of  Signor  Barbaja.  The 
boxes  have/ow/-  seats  in  the  front  row,  and  are  not  screened  off  by 
curtains;  generally  speaking,  they  are  reputed  to  be  less  convenient 
and  comfortable  than  those  at  la  Scala,  and  the  absence  of  curtains 
makes  it  necessary  for  the  ladies  always  to  appear  in  full  evening 
dress.  Considered  as  a  social  amenity,  the  San-Carlo,  which  gives 
performances  only  on  three  evenings  a  week,  does  not  serve  quite  the 
same  purpose  as  la  Scala,1  which  is  used  as  a  general  rendezvous 
every  evening  of  the  week  by  all  the  big  bankers  and  businessmen  of 
the  city;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  it  is  infinitely  better  suited  for  listen 
ing  to  music. 

These  two  theatres  are  generally  accepted  as  being  the  foremost 
"reputation-makers"2  in  all  Italy;  that  is  to  say,  that  nothing  gives  a 
singer  so  much  status  as  to  have  been  engaged  by  one  or  the  other  of 
these  two  leading  stages. 

In  Rome,  on  the  other  hand,  the  public  is  immensely  vain  about  its 
own  critical  prestige,  and  unspeakably  conceited — qualities  which, 
however,  have  somehow  done  nothing  to  cure  the  ugliness,  discom 
fort  and  cramped  inadequacy  of  its  theatres,  which  are  mostly  still 
built  of  wood.  There  is  in  fact  only  one  which  is  even  passable,  and 
that  because  it  was  built  under  the  French  occupation.3  Ever  since 

1  Among  the  advantages  of  civilization  offered  by  the  City  of  Paris,  this  is  one 
of  the  more  serious  amenities  which  is  lacking.  The  best  thing  to  do  would  be  to 
increase  the  size  of  the  foyer  of  the  theatre  in  the  rue  Le  Peletier  to  at  least  three 
times  its  present  dimensions,  and  to  lease  all  the  corresponding  storey  of  the 
adjacent  building,  so  as  to  convert  it  into  a  sort  of  literary  club,  with  its  own 
cafe,  billiard-tables,  etc.  The  essential  condition  is  that  membership  should  be  by 
subscription.  In  the  interests  of  intelligent  society  (and  not  in  the  interests  of  the 
privileged  classes  as  such),  I  propose  a  new  form  of  privilege.  The  subscription  to 
this  "theatre-club"  would  be  exceedingly  high,  but  allowing  a  25%  reduction  for 
all  persons  paying  1,000  fr.  or  more  in  annual  taxation,  for  all  members  of  the 
Institut  de  France,  for  all  lawyers  with  chambers  in  Paris,  etc.,  etc. — in  fact,  for 
all  members  of  society  who  rise  out  of  the  common  rut.  In  any  club  of  this  type, 
whose  membership  is  open  to  the  public  at  large,  the  indispensable  requirement  is 
to  keep  out  the  penniless  rabble  of  uneducated  young  bucks,  who  would  finish 
up  by  bringing  the  whole  enterprise  down  to  their  own  level  of  vulgarity. 

2  di  cartello,  literally:  of  advertisement. 

s  Rome  owes  the  greater  part  of  its  architectural  improvements,  which  were 
carried  out  under  Napoleon,  to  M.  Martial  Daru,  the  Crown  Intendant,  who  was 
a  man  of  great  intelligence  and  artistic  sensibility,  and  a  close  personal  friend  of 
Canova;  among  other  projects  carried  out  under  his  direction  was  the  work  on 
Trajan's  column. 


THE  LIFE  OF  THE  THEATRE  431 

the  restoration  of  the  Pope,  the  standard  of  singing  in  Rome  has  been 
of  dire  and  almost  unrelieved  poverty.  Cardinal  Consalvi,  a  highly 
enlightened  man,  and  himself  one  of  the  foremost  dilettanti  of  Italy,1 
had  to  employ  a  quite  extraordinary  amount  of  tact  before  he  could 
persuade  the  late  Pope  to  consent  to  the  reopening  of  the  theatres. 
Pius  VII  used  to  say,  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  "The  theatre  is  the 
Cardinal's  only  heresy!"  The  Argentina,  Alberti  and  Tordinona 
theatres  are  nowadays  no  longer  considered  as  being  di  cartello, 
except  during  the  Carnival  season;  but  the  halo  of  fame  which  once 
shone  so  brilliantly  about  the  names  Alberti  and  Argentina  still 
reflects  a  little  glory  through  the  years,  almost  undimmed,  because, 
during  the  Golden  Age  of  Pleasure  (c.  1760),  when  Princes,  as  yet 
undisturbed  by  anxious  thoughts  that  there  might  be  danger  to  their 
crowns,  had  no  preoccupation  in  the  world  save  that  of  their  own 
enjoyment,  these  were  the  theatres  for  which  the  glorious  masters  of 
the  time,  Pergolese,  Cimarosa,2  Paesiello  and  the  rest,  composed  their 
immortal  triumphs. 

Singers  in  search  of  prestige  and  reputation  think  less  of  Rome 
than  of  the  teatro  della  Fenice  (the  Phoenix  Theatre)  in  Venice.  This 
theatre,  whose  dimensions  are  approximately  those  of  the  Theatre  de 
rOdeon  in  Paris,  boasts  &  facade  of  striking  originality,  fronting  on 
one  of  the  main  canals;  arrival  and  departure  is  by  gondola;  and 
since  all  gondolas  are  painted  the  same  colour,  the  teatro  della  Fenice 
is  no  place  for  a  jealous  husband!  In  the  past,  in  the  days  of  the 
Government  ofSt  Mark's  (as  the  Venetians  call  it)  this  theatre  knew 
an  epoch  of  magnificence  and  glory;  Napoleon  revived  its  grandeur 
for  a  while;  but  to-day  it  is  sinking  slowly  into  degradation,  together 
with  the  rest  of  Venice.  In  thirty  years  from  now,  this  fantastic  city, 

1  In  1806  be  was  known  to  come  down  to  the  theatre  in  person  to  demonstrate 
to  the  singers  the  correct  tempo  for  the  performance  of  certain  passages  from 
Cimarosa.  He  was  a  man  of  formidable  intellecnial  ability;  but,  between  1818and 
1823,  he  began  to  grow  afraid  of  the  extremist  party,  and  all  his  acts  thence 
forward  reveal  Ms  overwhelming  determination  to  stay  in  office*  cost  what  it  might. 

2  Cardinal  Consalvi  commissioned  Canova  to  make  a  portrait-bust  of 
Cimarosa,  and  in  1816  this  bust  was  placed  in  the  Pantheon,  beside  the  bust  and 
tomb  of  Raphael.  But  the  cardinal,  yielding  more  and  more  beneath  the  pressure 
of  the  extremists,  and,  to  the  detriment  of  his  reputation,  yielding  also  on  matters 
of  considerably  greater  importance  than  this,  was  prevailed  upon  to  allow  his 
friend's  bust  to  be  exiled  to  the  Capitol,  where  it  became  lost  and  insignificant 
among  many  hundreds  of  others,  largely  antique  sculptures.  At  the  Pantheon,  it 
was  a  symbol,  reaching  the  hearts  of  all  those  who  were  bom  with  a  love  of  art ; 
but  at  the  Capitol,  it  is  nothing  more  than  a  trifling  curiosity. 


432  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

gayer  than  the  rest  of  Europe  put  together,  will  have  degenerated  into 
a  mean  and  insanitary  village,  unless  Italy  should  awaken  her  out  of 
her  dream,  and  give  herself  a  King — one  King,  not  many,  and  should 
this  happen,  I  should  cast  my  vote  for  the  "impregnable  city"  of 
Venice  as  Ms  capital. 

The  Venetians  are  the  gayest,  the  most  carefree,  and,  to  my  mind  at 
least,  the  most  philosophic  of  men;  and  so  they  take  vengeance  upon 
their  oppressors,  and  find  consolation  for  all  the  evils  that  beset 
them,  in  the  excellent  perfection  of  the  epigram.  I  have  known  certain 
severe  moralists  to  wax  indignant  over  their  frivolity;  but  I  might 
answer  these  glum  and  atrabiliar  critics  in  the  words  of  the  comic 
servant  from  Camilla: 

Signor,  la  vita  e  corta!1 

Since  the  day  when  Italy  saw  all  her  hopes  crushed  at  a  single  blow 
by  the  fall  of  the  one  man  who  could  have  transformed  her  into  one 
undivided,  autocratic  state,  the  Venetians  have  somehow  continued 
to  prop  up  the  tottering  glory  of  their  theatre  by  sheer  force  of  wit 
and  gaiety.  To  the  best  of  my  belief,  it  was  here,  in  1819,  that 
Madame  Fodor  laid  the  first  foundations  of  her  reputation,  singing 
in  Caraffa's  Elisabetta.  The  Venetians  struck  a  medal  in  her  honour. 
In  1821,  they  resurrected  the  half-forgotten  reputation  of  Crivelli, 
in  Pavesi's  Arminio*.2  And  yet  somehow,  at  the  root  of  all  these  wild 
outbursts  of  enthusiasm,  lies  a  deep  and  passionate  urge  to  prove 
that  Venice  is  still  alive. 

In  Paris,  there  is  always  politics  to  provide  the  day's  excitement;  in 
Venice,  there  is  instead  the  latest  satire  by  Buratti,  the  only  major 
satirical  poet  whom  Italy  has  produced  for  many  years.  I  would 
strongly  recommend  the  reader  to  study  FUomo,  la  Streffeide  or 
VElefantelde.  Buratti  is  probably  most  strikingly  successful  in  the 
grotesque  physical  caricatures  which  he  draws  of  his  heroes;  and,  in 
a  land  where  newspapers  are  rare,  bad  and  censored,  where  to  read 
even  these  with  too  much  attention  makes  a  man  suspect  of  carbon- 
arism*  and  where,  as  a  result,  everyone  is  slowly  dying  of  boredom, 

1  Sir,  life  is  short! 

2  A  fine  libretto,  full  of  tense  dramatic  situations;  music,  too,  which  is  far  from 
devoid  of  genius. 

8  The  fortress  where  the  carbonari  are  imprisoned  is  actually  just  near  by,  on 
one  of  the  little  islands  off  the  shores  of  Venetia. 


THE  LIFE  OF  THE  THEATRE  433 

this  technique  has  all  the  impact  of  startling  originality.  Imagine, 
then,  the  infinitely  greater  excitement  which  is  aroused  by  the  arrival 
of  the  latest  prima  donna  who  is  to  appear  alia  Fenice,  and  of  the 
latest  composer  who  is  coming  to  write  her  an  opera.  This  is  the 
reason  why  a  reputation  gained  in  Venice  is  at  least  as  important,  in 
music,  as  a  reputation  gained  in  Paris.  In  Paris  we  have  at  our  dis 
posal  every  conceivable  form  of  pleasure;  in  Italy,  there  is  but  one — 
the  pleasure  of  love,  and  of  art,  which  is  only  love  in  another 
language. 

Next  in  importance  after  la  Fenice  in  Venice  comes  the  Court 
Theatre  in  Turin.  This  building  is  actually  a  part  of  the  royal  palace, 
and  fronts  on  to  the  noble  vista  of  the  Piazza  del  Castello.  The 
entrance  to  the  theatre  runs  through  a  series  of  arcades;  but  since  it 
lies  within  the  precincts  of  the  King's  palace,  it  counts  as  lese- 
majeste  to  come  wearing  a  coat,  even  in  the  middle  of  winter;  it 
counts  as  lese-majeste  to  laugh;  it  counts  as  lese-majeste  to  clap, 
unless  the  Queen  has  clapped  first  ...  in  1821,  when  Madame  Pasta 
appeared  on  the  stage  here,  the  latter  article  of  this  exquisite  protocol 
had  to  be  placarded  three  or  four  times  in  succession  by  the  Chamber- 
lain-in-Waiting!  This  theatre,  which  is  of  a  fair  size,  but  where  the 
wretched  spectator  is  being  perpetually  harried  by  soldiers  growling 
about  lese-majeste,  is  reputed  to  stand  fourth  in  importance  in  all 
Italy,  and  is  always  di  cartello.  Performances  are  given  during  the 
carnival  season,  and  occasionally  during  Lent  as  well.1 

Florence,  Bologna,  Genoa  and  Sienna  likewise  possess  theatres, 
cramped  and  somewhat  tawdry,  but  which  are  all  di  cartello  in 
certain  seasons.  In  one  town,  the  carnovale  constitutes  the  "good" 
season;  in  another,  the  autunno,  etc.  Bergamo  has  a  magnificent 
theatre,  which  is  di  cartello  during  the  annual  fair;  similarly  Reggio 
enjoys  its  "fashionable"  season  during  the  statutory  weeks  when  the 
regional  fairs  and  markets  are  in  progress ;  and  the  same  is  true  of  the 
beautiful  new  theatre  at  Leghorn  during  the  summer  months.  Or  at 
least,  all  this  was  perfectly  true  ten  years  ago;  but  since  then,  the 
whole  situation  has  been  slowly  but  surely  deteriorating.  The  major 
ity  of  these  theatres  used  to  be  subsidized  and  protected  by  the 

1  Piety  permitting.  Well-known  retort  of  a  certain  great  nobleman:  Non 
voglio  abbrucciar  le  mle  chiappeper  voi!  [I  have  no  intention  of  getting  my  back 
side  scorched  on  your  account !] 


434  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

various  local  potentates  in  the  states  to  which  they  belonged,  at  least 
when  these  rulers  had  enough  leisure  to  enjoy  themselves.  But  nowa 
days,  when  such  doubtful  monarchs  are  almost  permanently  occu 
pied,  along  with  an  army  of  priests  and  a  few  remaining  nobles,  in 
herding  the  vast  majority  of  their  subjects  in  directions  which  seem 
curiously  unfashionable,  they  live,  not  in  the  love  of  their  peoples, 
but  in  abject  fear  of  them;1  and  music  is  the  last  thing  on  which  they 
are  ready  to  spend  money — rather  a  nice  public  hanging  any  day, 
than  a  new  opera!  Both  in  Milan  and  in  Turin,  large  numbers  of  the 
nobility,  with  a  weather  eye  upon  storms  to  come,  are  saving  money 
as  hard  as  they  can;  whereas  in  1796,  in  Cremona,  a  little  town  in 
Lombardy  whose  only  claim  to  fame  lies  in  being  mentioned  in  a 
line  by  Regnard: 

Savez-vous  bien,  monsieur,  quefetais  dans  Cremone  ...2 

the  family  with  the  greatest  pretensions  to  nobility  used  regularly  to 
send  200  louis  to  the  reigning  prima  donna  on  her  benefit-night. 

Of  course,  most  sovereigns  still  subsidize  the  theatre  to  some 
extent,  because  such  subsidies  are  traditional,  and  because  it  is  not 
politic  to  stop  doing  what  used  to  be  done  before;  but  the  money 
which  they  give  is  given  with  a  wry  smile  and  a  bad  grace.  The 
Emperor  of  Austria  allows  200,000  fr.  to  la  Scala;  the  King  of 
Naples,  round  about  350,000  fr.  to  the  San-Carlo;  while  the  King  of 
Sardinia  has  economically  trusted  the  running  of  his  theatre  to  one 
of  his  own  chamberlains.  As  far  as  I  know,  the  only  sovereign  who 
positively  enjoys  spending  money  on  his  Italian  opera  is  His  Majesty 
the  King  of  Bavaria;  and,  if  the  respect  humbly  due  to  such  a  sover 
eign  might  permit  the  expression,  I  should  say  that  he  is  a  merry  and 
a  happy  man.  Anyway,  even  though  a  depleted  treasury  grievously 
restricts  his  spending,  he  is  always  furnished  with  excellent  singers, 
for  he  is  invariably  polite  and  genial  towards  them;  thus,  in  Munich 
last  year,  you  could  have  found  a  company  which  included  the 
charming  Signorina  Schiassetti;  Zuchelli,  whose  noble  bass  voice 
searches  the  very  depths  of  the  soul;  and  the  enthralling  Ronconi, 
last  and  most  precious  survivor  of  the  Golden  Age  of  singing,  who, 
I  declare  it  boldly,  is  a  very  genius  among  singers. 

1  Compare  the  state  of  Cassel  (1823,  last  months)  with  that  of  Darmstadt 
where  the  latest  opera  is  the  most  vital  topic  of  conversation*. 

2  Now,  Sir,  you  should  know,  that  I  chanced  to  be  in  Cremona  ... 


THE  LIFE  OF  THE  THEATRE  435 

The  splendour  and  glory  of  la  Scala  and  the  San-Carlo  have,  in  the 
past,  rested  firmly  upon  the  sound  economic  foundations  of  the 
public  gaming-rooms.  In  vast  halls  adjoining  the  theatres  stood  faro- 
tables  and  rouge-et-noir,  and,  the  average  Italian  being  a  born 
gambler,  the  bank  would  usually  show  a  more  than  handsome  profit 
and  so  turn  over  enormous  sums  to  swell  the  funds  of  the  theatre.1 
Gaming  played  a  particularly  vital  role  in  the  history  of  la  Scala, 
which,  situated  as  it  is  in  a  city  with  a  damp  winter  climate,  soon  grew 
to  be  a  general  meeting-place  for  the  whole  town.  A  well-heated,  well- 
lit  establishment,  where  one  may  be  quite  certain  of  meeting  people 
on  almost  any  evening  in  the  week,  is  a  most  invaluable  institution  for 
any  city.  But  the  Austrian  authorities  in  Milan  have  prohibited 
gambling  at  la  Scala,  while  the  transitory  revolution  in  Naples  closed 
the  tables  there  too,  and  King  Ferdinand  has  not  yet  seen  fit  to  open 
them  again.  In  consequence,  both  these  theatres  are  doomed,  and 
their  great  musical  tradition  will  die  with  them.  It  was  the  profits 
from  the  tables  which  enabled  Vigano  to  produce  his  wonderful 
ballets  (Milan,  1805-1821)— -an  art  which  he  himself  discovered,  and 
whose  secret  died  with  him.2 

Every  theatre  in  Italy  has  its  ceremonial  opening  date  fixed  each 
year  on  the  26th  of  December,  which  is  the  beginning  of  the  stagione 
of  the  Carnival,  normally  the  most  brilliant  of  all.  Since  the  day  when 
Religion  stalked  back  into  the  land  to  reclaim  its  birthright,  there  is 
no  opera  performed  during  Advent  (the  sacred  season  which  pre 
cedes  Christmas,  beginning  on  or  about  the  1st  of  December),  with 
the  result  that,  now,  the  old,  tense  anticipation  of  novelty  is  increased 
a  thousand-fold  by  deprivation  of  the  foremost  requirement  of  life; 
and  when  at  last  the  26th  of  December  does  arrive,  I  honestly  do  not 
believe  that  the  news  that  Napoleon  himself  had  risen  from  the  dead 

1  As  a  disinterested  observer,  I  note  that  in  Paris  the  profits  of  the  public 
gaming-rooms  go,  among  other  things,  to  provide  pensions  for  pious  moralists 
who  denounce  the  abuses  of  this,  our  most  curious  century! 

2  The  works  of  Vigand  include:  Coriolano  (1804);  Tamiri  (1805);  la  Vanarella 
(1805);  Jes  Strelitz  (1812);  Richard  Coeur-de-lion  (1812);  Clotilde  (1812);  il  Noce 
di  Benevento  (1812);  VAlunno  della  Giumenta  (1812);  Prometeo  (1813);  Sa- 
mandria  liber ata  (1813);  les  Hussites  (1815);  Numa  Pompilia  (1815);  Myrrha  ou 
la  Vengeance  de  Venus  (1815);  Psammi  rot  d'Egypte  (1815);  les  Trois  Oranges 
(1815);  Dedale  (1818);  Otello  (1818);  la  Vestale  (1818).  Yet,  of  all  these  master 
pieces,  not  a  trace  remains  save  the  music  in  arrangements  made  by  Vigand  him 
self.  I  can  recommend  the  reader  to  look  at  the  scores  of  Otello -,  la  Vestale  and 
Myrrha,  which  he  can  purchase  from  the  music-publisher  Rjcordi  in  Milan, 


436  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

would  cause  a  single  mind  to  abandon  its  passionate  preoccupation 
with  music.  Not  a  woman  in  the  whole  theatre,  on  that  evening,  but 
is  decked  out  in  the  gayest  and  most  gorgeous  of  her  gala-dresses; 
and,  if  the  new  opera  is  a  success,  any  box  which  has  not  yet  been 
leased  for  the  year  will  have  doubled  in  price  by  the  following  day.  I 
should  merely  be  wasting  my  time  if  I  were  to  attempt  a  description 
of  the  wild  extravagance  of  these  carnival  premieres. 

A  successful  opera,  in  Italy,  will  normally  enjoy  a  run  of  some 
thirty  successive  performances,  which  is  about  the  number  of  times 
that  it  is  profitable  to  listen  to  an  opera  of  average  competence.1 
There  is  a  performance  on  every  day  of  the  week  with  the  exception 
of  Friday,  the  day  of  our  Saviour's  death,  and  with  the  further  excep 
tion,  in  lands  under  Austrian  domination,  of  about  seventeen  miscel 
laneous  birthdays,  death-anniversaries,  etc.,  of  the  present  living  and 
last  three  dead  Austrian  Emperors  or  Empresses.  Traditionally,  the 
maestro  who  wrote  the  opera  is  required  to  conduct  the  performance 
of  his  own  music  from  the  piano  during  the  first  three  performances ; 
I  leave  you  to  imagine  the  ignominious  horror  of  this  obligation  if  the 
opera  should  turn  out  to  be  a  flop!  In  practice,  an  opera  has  to  be 
absolutely  detestable  to  be  taken  off  before  the  third  performance; 
the  composer,  in  fact,  can  claim  three  as  a  right.  I  should  dearly  like 
to  see  this  tradition,  which  is  extremely  sensible,  established  in  Paris. 
More  than  once  I  have  seen  an  opera  pick  up  at  the  third  perform 
ance;  and  in  any  case,  organized  opposition,  knowing  that  its  efforts 
will  be  comparatively  useless,  will  necessarily  be  much  less  active  at 
the  premiere. 

Normally,  during  each  season  (which  may  include  eighty  to  a 
hundred  performances),  the  company  will  give  three  different  operas, 
of  which  two  will  be  original  works  composed  aposta  (expressly)  for 
that  particular  theatre;  also  four  ballets,  consisting  of  two  full-scale 
tragic  ballets,  and  two  comic  ones. 

Every  town  in  Italy  has  its  theatre;  and  most  of  the  theatres  in  the 
bigger  cities,  Turin,  Genoa,  Venice,  Bologna,  Milan,  Naples,  Rome, 
Florence,  Leghorn,  etc.,  are  governed  by  a  constitution  which  lays  it 
down  as  an  express  condition  that  at  certain  stated  intervals  original 

1  If  an  opera  is  well  sung,  it  will  be  slightly  different  at  every  performance, 
owing  to  variations  in  the  emotional  mood  of  the  singer,  and  consequently  of  the 
musical  embellishments  used. 


THE  LIFE  OF  THE  THEAfRg  431 

operas  composed  specially  for  the  theatre  concerned  must  be  pro 
duced.  This  tradition  is  the  one  factor  which  has  kept  music  alive  in 
Italy  as  an  active  form  of  art;  for  assuredly,  if  chance  had  in  fact  not 
ordained  it  so,  the  pedants,  by  the  very  weight  of  their  adulation 
heaped  mountains-high  upon  the  old,  dead  masters,  would  have 
crushed  the  new,  living  ones  at  birth!  Without  this  established  prac 
tice,  music  in  Italy  would  be  as  dead  as  painting.  Any  painter,  even 
the  most  gifted,  is  obliged  to  go  down  on  his  knees  and  beg  for  com 
missions  ;  but  for  the  musician,  the  boot  is  on  the  other  foot — it  is  the 
capitalist  with  the  money  who  is  forced  to  go  and  implore  the  famous 
composer  to  work  for  the  theatre  of  which  he  happens  to  be  the 
lessee.  To  be  able  to  put  on  a  new  opera  is  a  vast  triumph  for  muni 
cipal  vanity  in  Italy,  and  towns  no  bigger  or  more  important  than 
Saint-Cloud  quite  ordinarily  commission  original  music  two  or  three 
times  a  year.  If  Colbert  had  suggested  to  Louis  XIV  a  law,  by  whose 
enactment,  every  year,  on  the  26th  of  December,  the  20th  of  Febru 
ary  and  the  25th  of  August,  a  new  and  original  tragedy  had  to  be 
produced  at  the  Theatre  Frangais,  the  art  of  tragedy  would  not  by 
now  be  as  dead  as  a  door-nail  in  the  land  of  France.  Dramatists, 
obliged  by  law  to  exist,  would  soon  have  been  compelled  to  realize 
that  they  could  not  exist  successfully  except  by  following  the  develop 
ment  of  progress  and  enlightenment  within  the  community  which 
they  were  required  to  serve. 

If  we  in  France  wish,  not  to  conjure  up  composers  (which,  as 
Diderot1  said,  would  not  be  to  begin  at  the  beginning),  but  to  start 
Informing  an  audience,  the  first,  necessary  step  is  to  lay  down  by  law 
that  each  year,  and  at  pre-detennined,  unalterable  dates^  three  new 
and  original  operas  composed  expressly  for  the  theatre  in  question 
shall  be  given  at  the  Louvois.  The  audience  itself  might  then  have  the 
pleasure  of  being  critic.  Rossini,  according  to  the  latest  rumours,  is 
soon  to  be  passing  through  Paris*,  in  December  1823,  on  his  way  to 
London,  where  he  is  to  write  a  new  opera.  If  only  we  could  manage 
to  ho  Whim  on  the  journey!2 

1  I  should  dearly  like  to  see  the  publication  of  eight  good  volumes  in-octavo, 
containing  the  two-thousand-odd  letters  in  which  Diderot  wrote  to  his  mistress  a 
detailed  account  of  aU  that  was  going  on  in  Paris  in  his  day.  They  are  the  finest 
things  he  did*. 

2  With  the  exception  of  Signor  Dragonetti  and  one  or  two  other  composers 
of  orchestral  music,  the  Theatre  Louvois  cannot  boast  any  considerable  talent. 
No  race  in  Europe  is  less  sensitive  to  music  than  the  English,  and  yet  London 


438  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

Let  me  give  an  example  of  a  typical  Italian  opera-programme — an 
example  borrowed  from  the  account  of  a  well-known  traveller.  On 
the  1st  of  February,  1818,  the  performance  at  la  Scala  began  at 
7  o'clock  in  the  evening.  (In  the  summer,  it  begins  at  a  quarter  to 
nine.)  On  this  particular  date,  the  1st  of  February  1818,  the  pro 
gramme  consisted  of  the  first  act  of  la  Gazza  ladra,  which  lasted  from 
seven  o'clock  until  a  quarter  past  eight;  of  the  ballet  la  Vestale,  by 
Vigano,  with  a  cast  including  Signorina  Pallerini  and  Molinari,  and 
lasting  from  half-past  eight  until  ten  o'clock;  of  the  second  act  of 
la  Gazza  ladra,  which  ran  from  a  quarter  past  ten  until  a  quarter  past 
eleven;  and  finally,  of  a  tiny  comic  ballet  by  Vigano,  entitled  la 
Calzolaja  (the  Cobbler's  wife),  which  the  public  had  originally 
treated  to  an  exhibition  of  derisive  whistling  out  of  a  pure  sense  of 
its  own  self-importance,  and  yet  greeted  with  delight  every  time  it 
appeared  upon  the  programme,  because  it  was  fresh  and  original. 
(In  comedy,  anything  really  fresh  or  original  is  always  greeted  with 
derisive  whistling  at  the  premiere  by  any  truly  self-respecting  audi 
ence.)  This  little  ballet  concluded  the  programme,  which  eventually 
finished  between  midnight  and  one  o'clock  in  the  morning.  Every 
week,  the  miniature  concluding  ballet  was  varied  by  the  incorpora 
tion  of  a  new  dance-sequence. 

At  la  Scala,  each  scene  of  the  opera,  and  each  scene  of  the  ballets 
is  set  in  a  fresh  decor;  and  there  are  invariably  a  great  many  scenes, 
since  the  author  relies  to  some  extent  upon  the  audience's  apprecia- 
ation  of  new  and  original  sets  to  ensure  the  success  of  his  work  as  a 
whole.  No  set  (scend)  is  ever  used  for  two  distinct  spectacles ;  if  the 
opera  or  ballet  should  prove  a  failure,  the  set,  which  may  have  been 
magnificent,  is  nevertheless  ruthlessly  painted  out  on  the  following 
day,  even  if  it  has  only  been  seen  at  one  single  performance;  for  the 
same  flats  are  used  over  and  over  again  for  new  scenes.  All  scenery  is 
painted  with  size-paint,  and  the  set  as  a  whole  is  built  up  on  principles 
which  are  utterly  different  from  those  which  are  in  vogue  in  Paris  to 
day.  In  Paris,  it  is  all  tinselly  glitter,  everything  is  a  filigree  of  pretty, 
witty  little  arabesques,  each  enamelled  in  immaculate  detail.  But  in 
Milan,  everything  is  sacrificed  to  mass  effects  of  form  and  colour,  and 

organizes  its  music  much  better  than  Paris.  The  reason  is  obvious:  London  is 
inflicted,  neither  with  "organized  opposition",  nor  with  the  plague  of  aesthetic 
patriotism* 


THE  LIFE  OF  THE  THEATRE  439 

to  the  general  impression.  It  is  David's  own  special  genius  trans 
posed  into  the  medium  of  decor.  The  result  is  that,  sometimes,  even 
the  most  frivolous  sets  seem  to  wear  a  strange  and  imposing  dignity, 
which  strikes  the  beholder  immediately,  and  produces  a  strong 
impression  of  beauty.  The  reader's  imagination  may  perhaps  be  able 
to  conjure  up  some  idea  of  the  grandeur  of  these  palaces,  cathedral 
naves,  mountain  landscapes,  etc. ;  but,  since  nothing  even  remotely 
resembling  them  has  been  seen  on  the  stage  outside  Italy,  there  are  no 
words  capable  of  describing  these  settings  (scene).  At  very  best,  I 
might  claim  that  the  views  of  Canterbury  and  Chartres  cathedrals  as 
shown  on  the  diorama,  or  Mr  Baker's  sublime  panoramas  of  Berne  and 
Lausanne,  have  some  power  of  suggesting  the  perfection  of  certain 
decors  at  la  Scala,  created  by  i  Signori  Perego,  Sanquirico  and 
Tranquillo — with  this  difference,  however:  that  the  panoramas  and 
dioramas  can  lay  no  higher  claim  to  consideration  than  as  faithful 
reproductions  of  nature,  whereas  the  stage-sets,  which  are  likewise 
faithful  portraits  of  famous  places,  have  the  added  virtue  of  being 
ennobled  by  the  boldest  and  rarest  ideals  of  absolute  beauty.  Trav 
ellers  in  Italy  who  have  admired  these  masterpieces  of  the  scene- 
painter's  art— I  might  almost  say,  who  have  felt  their  power,  for 
indeed  these  scene  literally  double  the  dynamic  impact  of  any  opera 
or  ballet — such  travellers,  I  maintain,  will  find  it  quite  incredible  to 
learn  that  the  great  painters  Perego,  Sanquirico  and  Tranquillo 
receive  no  more  than  400  fr.  for  any  one  set  of  this  quality.1  It  is  true, 
of  course,  that  la  Scala  commissions  a  hundred  and  twenty  or  a 
hundred  and  forty  new  decors  every  year.  What  is  there  left  to  say 
about  these  masterpieces  to  anyone  who  has  once  seen  them?  Or — a 
far  thornier  problem— what  on  earth  is  it  possible  to  say  about  them 
to  anyone  who  has  not  seen  them,  without  laying  oneself  open  to  the 
most  serious  charges  of  over-statement?*  Like  Vigano's  ballets,  these 
decors  are  the  eternal  stumbling-block  of  every  traveller  who  tries  to 
give  an  account  of  his  experiences  in  Italy— yet  with  this  difference, 

1  The  precious  and  stylized  miniatures,  devoid  alike  of  impressiveness  and 
grandeur,  which  are  foisted  upon  the  wretched  audiences  of  the  Louvois  and  the 
Grand  Opera,  cost  five  or  six  times  as  much.  Do  you  remember  the  View  of  Rome 
scene  from  the  revived  version  ofgli  Orazii  (14th  August  1823)?  It  is  not  hard  to 
perceive  that  Louis  David  has  been  exiled;  painting  is  in  full  spate  of  degeneration 
and  comes  crashing  back  at  a  gallop  towards  the  good  old  patriotic  style  of 
Boucher!  V.  the  Industrial  Exhibition,  1823. 


440  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

that  at  la  Scala,  when  Perego  died,  Sanquirick1  was  ready  as  a  worthy 
successor,  while  Tranquillo,  Sanquirick's  pupil,  is  already  as  profi 
cient  as  his  master;  but  when  Vigano  died,  he  carried  his  secret  for 
ever  with  him  to  the  grave. 

1  Sanquirick  is  the  Milanese  pronunciation  of  the  Italian  word  Sanquirico. 


CHAPTER  XLV 

Concerning  the  San-Carlo  Theatre 

and  the  present  moral  Climate  of  Naples, 

the  Home  of  Music 

JL  ERSONS  who  have  travelled  in  Italy,  and  whose  minds,  transcend 
ing  the  merely  useful  or  convenient,  have  acquired  that  true  degree  of 
culture  which  seeks  out  only  the  beautiful,  will  surely  call  upon  me  to 
account  for  my  constantly-manifested  prejudice  in  favour  of  la 
Scala,  whose  qualities  I  am  for  ever  commending  above  those  of  the 
teatro  San-Carlo,  At  first  sight,  nothing  could  be  more  unjust;  for 
whereas  Naples  is  the  very  fount  and  birthplace  of  fine  singing,  Milan 
is  already  tainted  by  the  evil  and  infectious  presence  of  so-called 
"rational"  ideas  from  the  North.1  If  you  were  to  make  a  list  of  the 
finest  composers  in  the  world,  you  would  find  that  the  first  thirty 
would  be  born,  almost  without  exception,  beneath  the  shadow  of 
Vesuvius,  whereas  scarcely  one  first  saw  the  light  of  day  in  Lombardy. 
The  orchestra  of  the  San-Carlo  is  infinitely  superior  to  that  of  la 
Scala,  for  the  latter  observes  the  same  principles  in  the  field  of  music, 
as  do  our  modern  painters  of  the  French  school  in  the  field  of  art, 

1  There  is  no  evil  more  insidious  than  the  misapplication  of  scientific  know 
ledge;  for  the  false  scientist  stalks  down  the  highways  of  error  in  so  obstinate  a 
conviction  of  his  own  Tightness  that  it  touches  on  the  absurd.  Remember  the 
preposterous  application  of  mathematics  to  the  theory  of  probability;  remember 
likewise  the  attempt,  which  has  already  been  mentioned  (pp.  174-5),  of  a  certain 
French  philosopher  to  rationalize  over  the  theory  of  the  duet! 

The  weakness  of  such  persons,  who,  in  all  other  respects,  may  command  an 
excellent  dialectical  method,  is  their  passion  for  constructing  coherent  and 
rational  philosophies  based  upon  data  which  they  are  unable  to  perceive.  Ration 
alism,  in  music,  leads  nowhere,  save  to  the  theory  of  the  recitative  with  instru 
mental  accompaniment;  vocal  music  proper,  the  aria,  consists  at  bottom  simply  of 
an  original  melody,  which  can  be  experienced  but  not  deduced.  And  it  just  happens 
that  this  particular  form  of  experience  is  extremely  rare  in  France  anywhere  norm 
of  the  Loire,  whereas  it  is  very  common  in  Toulouse  or  in  the  Pyrenees.  Do  you 
remember  those  ragged  little  urchins  who  sang  beneath  our  windows  once  in 
Pierrefitte,  on  the  road  to  Cauterets,  and  whom  you  called  up  into  our  room*? 
Toulouse,  incidentally,  has  something  in  its  singing,  some  strange  and  sombre 
colouring  in  its  atmosphere,  particularly  in  its  religious  atmosphere,  which  re 
minds  me  of  some  typical  city  in  the  Papal  States.  Toulouse  is  still  trying  to 
justify  the  murder  of  Galas,  even  now,  in  the  year  1823 ! 


442  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

thus  accounting  for  the  resplendent  and  glittering  diversity  of  their 
palettes— that  is  to  say,  that  the  orchestra  is  so  obsessed  by  an 
absolute  terror  of  ridicule,  that  it  finishes  up  by  achieving  a  perfectly 
uniform  effect  of  unrelieved  monotony,  just  like  our  own  modern 
and  fashionable  doctors,  who  would  rather  let  the  patient  die  than 
risk  an  unorthodox  remedy  which  might  earn  them  the  title  of 
Dr  Sangrado*. 

Constantly  pursued  by  the  fear  of  failing  to  paint  in  soft  and  har 
monious  colours — i.e.,  fundamentally,  by  that  fear  of  ridicule  which, 
in  ultra-civilized  communities,  attaches  only  too  frequently  to  any 
manifestation  of  violent  energy,  and  hence  to  all  originality — our 
French  artists  have  been  reduced  in  the  long  run  to  depicting  every 
thing,  even  the  greenest  of  green  grass,  in  flat  and  uniform  shades  of 
grey.  Similarly  at  la  Scala,  the  orchestra  would  think  itself  in  immin 
ent  danger  of  eternal  perdition  if  it  should  once  rise  above  the  sweet 
inoffensiveness  of  its  gentle  piano — a  defect  which  is  diametrically 
opposed  to  that  of  the  Louvois  orchestra,  whose  pride  and  glory  it  is 
never  to  fall  short  of  a  magnificent/or  tozwo  . . .  and  let  the  singers  go 
hang!  The  orchestra  of  la  Scala  cringes  before  the  singers,  and  is  their 
humble,  obsequious  and  most  obedient  servant. 

To  this  point,  therefore,  everything  appears  to  favour  Naples;  but 
the  House  of  Austria,  which  rules  in  Milan,  although  an  absolute 
monarchy  in  theory,  is  an  oligarchic  monarchy  in  practice — that  is  to 
say,  it  is  reasonable,  economical  and  calculating.  The  Austrian  aris 
tocracy  both  loves  and  understands  music;  and  the  Princes  of  the 
House  of  Austria  have  inherited  kindly  dispositions  and  a  certain 
instinct  for  statesmanship;  at  least,  they  are  always  most  careful  to 
take  no  important  step  without  first  thrashing  the  matter  out  in  long 
consultation  with  a  Senate  of  venerable  Counsellors  who,  if  they  are 
singularly  uninspired,  are  nevertheless  exceedingly  cautious.  By  con 
trast,  in  Naples,  the  rule  is  one  of  unmitigated  despotism — a  despot 
ism  based  upon  pure  favouritism,  which,  in  the  matter  of  Signor 
Barbaja  and  the  teatro  San-Carlo,  was  to  be  seen  in  all  the  effulgent 
glory  of  its  unredeemed  absurdity.  Under  Signor  Barbaja,  it  hap 
pened  not  infrequently  that  the  San-Carlo  would  remain  closed  for  a 
whole  week  on  end.  Under  Signor  Barbaja,  who  was  anxious  lest  he 
should  upset  the  somewhat  chancy  voice  of  Signorina  Colbran,  the 
programme,  which  should  have  consisted  of  a  two-act  opera  and  a 


THE  SAN-CARLO  THEATRE  443 

full-length  ballet,  has  been  known  to  have  dwindled  to  one  act  of  an 
opera  only,  and  one  ordinary  ballet.  Foreigners  who  have  come  to 
Naples  have  been  known  to  live  there  for  three  whole  months  with 
out  ever  seeing  the  second  act  of  Medea  or  Cora.  (Personally,  I  could 
have  felt  quite  happy  without  these  particular  second  acts,  but  these 
foreigners  happened  to  be  Germans,  and  seemed  to  want  Mayer's 
music!  In  any  case,  both  Medea  and  Cora  were  fashionable  at  the 
time.)  For  two  months  on  end,  you  could  go  and  watch  the  first  act  of 
Medea;  and  then,  for  a  further  two  months,  the  second  act  of  Medea 
...  perhaps;  it  depended  upon  the  current  stage  of  disintegration  in 
Signorina  Colbran. 

Naples  has  even  reached  a  stage  when  (horribile  dictu!)  there  are 
whole  days  without  any  musical  performances  at  all.  In  1785,  in  the 
days  before  the  Third  Estate  declared  war  on  the  Aristocracy,  this 
would  not  have  mattered,  for  the  conversation  of  fifty  fascinating 
salons  would  have  been  open  to  the  idler  in  search  of  amusement ;  but 
now  a  most  curious  revolution  has  occurred.  Ever  since  the  mass 
acres  organized  by  Queen  Caroline  and  Admiral  Nelson,  the  venom 
of  hatred  has  grown  virulent  to  such  a  degree,  that  the  first  secret  and 
delirious  pact  agreed  upon  by  any  happy  pair  of  Neapolitan  lovers  is 
...  never  to  talk  politics!  Should  one  of  the  lovers  see  fit  to  broach  a 
subject  which,  between  man  and  man,  and  provided  that  no  sinister 
smell  of  the  informer  lies  heavy  on  the  air,  is  the  only  interesting  topic 
of  conversation  in  all  the  world— this  is  a  sure  sign  that  the  match  is 
to  be  broken  off!  When  I  was  in  Russia,  I  met  a  young  man  named 

R ;  and  in  consequence,  when  I  came  to  Naples,  I  received  a 

most  cordial  welcome  from  the  delightful  family  of  the  Marchese 
N***,  a  family  consisting  of  two  sons  and  one  daughter.  The  elder 
son  is  a  revolutionary  carbonaro,  whereas  the  younger  is  an  ardent 
supporter  of  the  existing  government;  the  father  is  one  of  the  old- 
time  partisans  of  Murat,  the  King  of  Naples,  with  a  passionate  fond 
ness  for  all  things  French;  the  mother  is  all  priests  and  piety;  and  the 
daughter  is  an  impassioned  adherent  of  moderate  carbonarism,  which 
wants  a  constitution  on  the  French  pattern,  with  two  Chambers 
£  Vanglaise  (I  should  guess  that  she  has  a  lover  in  exile,  who  is  living 
in  London!)  The  consequence  is  that  this  extremely  correct,  and  at 
bottom  extremely  united  family,  sits  down  to  table  in  a  chill  of 
deathly  silence,  which  at  last  is  broken  by  innocuous  chatter  about 


444  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

the  weather,  the  latest  eruption  of  Vesuvius  or  the  novena  of  Saint 
Januarius.  The  theatre  itself,  and  even  Rossini,  have  become  matters 
of  party-politics,  and  a  meticulous  silence  must  be  observed  in  that 
direction  unless  you  wish  to  provoke  storms  of  execration;  the 
torture  imposed  by  such  unnatural  and  self-inflicted  restraint  is  a 
thousand  times  more  excruciating  in  Naples  than  in  our  own  cool, 
distant  and  reasonable  climates.  "Mose  is  a  fine  opera,"  said  the 
royalist  younger  son.  "Indeed,"  added  the  elder,  "and  so  beautifully 
sung,  too!  Last  night  la  Colbran  scarcely  went  wrong  (non  calava)  at 
all;  she  can't  have  been  more  than  a  semitone  off  key." — Dead 
silence!  To  utter  rude  thoughts  about  la  Colbran  is  to  speak  sedition 
against  the  King,  and  the  two  brothers  had  sworn  a  truce.  The  elder 
son,  the  carbonaro,  told  me  on  another  occasion:  "The  revolution 
has  destroyed  everything — even  the  fun  of  making  love !  Along  comes 
a  pack  of  damned  Frenchmen,  with  their  pretty  vanities  and  their 
prim,  bourgeois  habits — and  look  at  the  result!  Not  one  of  our 
wenches  but  sits  at  home  now,  smugly  dutiful  and  smiling  at  her  own 
husband.  Is  it  surprising,  then,  that  the  men  get  bored  and  miserable, 
and  start  wanting  Houses  of  Commons  and  tempestuous  parliament 
ary  debates,  and  so  on?— not  forgetting  that  we  are  bred  on  elo 
quence  in  the  tradition  of  Poerio  and  Dragonetti!1  Everything  in 
Naples  has  been  destroyed  and  broken — everything  except  our 
ballets,  which  are  still  the  finest  in  the  world,  and  the  banks  of  the 
Mergellina!"  These  are  the  exact  words  which  my  Neapolitan  friend 
spoke  to  me.  Incidentally,  the  ballets  which  are  performed  in  Naples 
(and  are  worthy  of  M.  Gardel)  have  nothing  in  common  with  those 
of  Vigano,  which  represent  one  of  these  "new-fangled  romantic 
inventions",  and  thus  are  received  with  sharp  derision  by  the 
Neapolitans.  The  art  of  theatrical  decor,  and  in  fact  all  the  visual 
aspect  of  the  drama,  is  twenty  times  better  in  Naples  than  in  Paris; 
but  unfortunately,  an  immutable  geographical  decree  has  determined 
that  no  traveller  shall  reach  Naples  without  having  first  passed 
through  Milan,  and  in  consequence,  the  sets  at  the  San-Carlo  usually 
seem  cheap  and  often  garish  by  contrast. 

There  may  still  be  something  to  hope  for  music,  however,  from 
Calabria,  the  provinces  of  the  East,  Taranto,  and  in  general  from  all 

1  Eloquent  speakers,  whose  genius  is  at  least  the  equal  of  anything  which  is  to 
be  seen  in  France,  or  even  in  England  since  the  death  of  Sheridan  and  Grattan. 


THE  SAN-CARLO  THEATRE  445 

the  country  which  lies  in  the  hinterland  of  Naples,  The  reasons  I  have 
for  holding  to  this  belief  are  rather  awkward  to  set  down,  for  they 
would  seem  to  shock  both  decency  and  common-sense.1  Neverthe 
less,  it  shall  be  attempted.  The  art  of  any  community  has  its  roots  in 
the  physical  constitution  and  in  the  material  and  moral  culture  of 
that  people  as  a  whole;  that  is  to  say,  art  is  composed  of  countless 
hundreds  of  habits.  Now,  for  more  than  a  century,  music  had  flour 
ished  in  fair  Parthenope*,  and  the  sound  of  it  had  gone  up  to  heaven, 
when  one  day  the  French  appeared  to  harass  this  poor  city  of 
Naples,  infecting  it  with  books,  decency  and  liberal  notions,  and, 
worst  of  all,  repressing  the  free  and  gentle  art  of  love.  But  in  the  wide 
and  scattered  countryside  beyond  the  city  boundaries,  the  older  way 
of  life  is  still  unchanged.  Traditionally,  the  elder  brother  enters  the 
priesthood,  marries  off  one  of  his  younger  brothers  to  continue  his 
name  and  lineage,  and  then  settles  down  comfortably  to  live  with  his 
sister-in-law.  The  family  thus  united  lives  in  monotonous  tranquillity, 
and  knows  only  one  form  of  entertainment:  music-making.  Yet 
could  you  guess  the  one  disrupting  note  which  may  come  to  trouble 
this  sweet  if  uneventful  existence?— -fear!  Fear  lest  some  spiteful 
neighbour  should  cast  the  evil  eye  upon  them. 

The  jettatura**  is  the  bogy-man  of  the  Kingdom  of  Naples.  If  a 
jettatura  should  fall  upon  you,  everything  that  you  possess  will  wilt 
and  pine  and  perish.  To  guard  against  the  jettatura,  every  member  of 
the  family  carries  a  good  dozen  holy  relics  and  agnus  Dei,  and  men 
wear  horns  made  of  coral  dangling  from  their  watch-chains;  some 
men  even  wear  real  horns,  eight  or  ten  inches  long,  fastened  round 
their  necks  and  nestling  on  their  breasts,  like  a  mistress'  portrait,  and 
more  or  less  efficiently  concealed  in  the  folds  of  their  waistcoat.  Once, 

1  I  sincerely  hope  that,  by  the  time  this  part  of  my  book  has  been  readied,  five 
out  of  every  six  of  the  readers  for  whom  it  is  not  written  will  have  closed  it  up  and 
set  it  back  on  the  shelf.  Firm  in  this  belief,  I  intend  to  risk  expounding  a  few  ideas 
which  I  should  most  hastily  have  obliterated  from  the  earlier  pages.  May  one  s 
trust  in  the  perfectibility  of  the  human  spirit  aUow  one  to  hope  that  one  day  some 
one  will  invent  a  device  by  which  the  public  may  be  helped  to  select  exclusively 
those  writers  who  are  suited  to  its  requirements ;  and  by  which,  conversely,  writers 
may  be  enabled  to  reach  only  those  readers  whom  they  desire  to  attract?  Have 
you  Reader,  enjoyed  the  works  of  Walter  Scott  and  the  treatises  of  M.  Courier? 
—if  so,  then  I  am  writing  for  you.  Did  you  enjoy  the  Histoire  de  Cromwell,  or 
M  Villemain's  Melanges,  or  the  respective  Histoires  of  M.  Lacretelle  or  M.  Raoul 
Rochette?— if  that  is  the  case,  then  shut  this  book  quickly,  for  you  will  find  it 
fanciful,  indecent  and  platitudinous! 
a  Pronounced  yet-a-toura. 


446  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

when  I  was  coming  back  to  Naples  from  Palermo,  where  even  the 
biggest  horns  are  very  cheap,  I  was  commissioned  to  bring  back  a 
dozen  or  fifteen  horns  of  cattle,  each  a  good  three  feet  long,  which, 
when  I  had  brought  them  safely  to  their  destination,  were  avidly 
seized  upon  and  curiously  mounted  in  gold;  and  soon  I  began  to 
observe  them,  prominent  among  the  other  decorations,  in  various 
drawing-rooms  and  bedrooms.  On  the  sea-journey  from  Palermo  to 
Naples,  our  speronara  met  with  very  dirty  weather;  and  I,  to  keep  my 
mind  off  being  seasick,  struck  up  a  song.  Whereupon  the  skipper  and 
his  mates  swore  the  most  uncompromising  oaths,  accusing  me  of 
tempting  Providence,  and  whispering  secretly  among  themselves  that 
I  myself  might  well  be  a  jettatore.  I  took  them  below,  and  showed 
them  the  vast  collection  of  beeves'  horns  which  I  was  transporting, 
and  in  the  end  they  grew  calmer;  so,  to  seal  our  pact  of  reconciliation, 
I  knelt  before  a  little  statuette  of  Santa  Rosalia,  in  front  of  which 
glimmered  a  single  candle,  and  begged  her  to  establish  Mutual 
Improvement  Societies  for  the  enlightenment  of  the  population  of 
Sicily.  (She  replied  that  she  would  be  prepared  to  consider  it  in  three 
hundred  years'  time.) 

Yet  it  was  in  Calabria,  and  blanketed  in  just  such  a  fog  of  curious 
superstitions,  that  Paesiello,  Pergolese,  Cimarosa  and  a  hundred 
others  first  saw  the  light  of  day.  No  American  sailor,  I  am  convinced, 
would  have  taken  me  for  a  jettatore ;  America  is  reasonable;  but 
what  has  reasonable  America  produced  in  the  way  of  art?  One  of  our 
modern  writers,  Vauvenargues  I  believe,  once  remarked  that  "the 
Sublime  is  the  echo  of  a  noble  soul".  But  it  would  be  even  more 
strictly  true  to  say  that  art  is  the  outcome  of  the  entire  culture  of  a 
race,  the  product  of  all  its  habits ,  including  the  most  grotesque  and  the 
most  fantastic.  In  Italy,  in  the  year  1300  or  thereabouts,  every  head 
in  the  land  was  alive  with  speculation  about  the  nature  of  Purgatory; 
thus  it  came  about  that  everybody  started  wanting  to  build  chapels, 
and,  when  built,  to  fill  them  with  paintings  of  their  patron  saints,  so 
that  these  might  intercede  for  them,  should  the  builders  eventually 
turn  up  in  that  dismal  region  themselves;  and  without  a  single 
doubt,  it  is  to  nothing  less  than  so  incongruous  and  baroque  a  notion 
that  we  owe  Raphael  and  Correggio. 

Similarly,  when  Cosmo  the  Great  of  Florence,  or  the  Farnese  of 
Parma,  etc.,  by  force  of  tyranny  and  a  plague  of  spies,  killed  the 


THE  SAN-CARLO  THEATRE  447 

finest  joys  of  conversation,  the  first  flower  to  blossom  on  the  dese 
crated  grave  was  solitude ;  and  solitude,  beneath  skies  as  fair  as  those 
of  Italy,  cannot  live  long  without  love.  Love  in  such  a  climate  is 
sombre,  jealous  and  impassioned — in  short,  such  love  is  real  love,1 
which,  towards  the  year  1500,  making  its  way  to  church  and  there 
discovering  music  (for  in  this  land  the  priests  have  learned  to  seize  a 
man  by  all  his  senses,  in  order  to  frighten  the  life  out  of  poor  sinners, 
and  induce  them  to  slip  a  little  gift  or  offering  into  the  pockets  of 
Mother  Church2),  did  see  in  it  a  way,  an  only  way,  the  only  way  still 
free  within  a  hostile  world,  to  express  the  half-felt,  fleeting  shades  of 
all  its  hopes  and  all  its  dull  despair. 

The  antique  Miserere  of  the  Vatican,  composed  by  Allegri  in  the 
year  1400  or  thereabouts*,  is,  I  have  no  doubt  whatever,  equally 
responsible  for  the  thoroughly  secular  duet: 

lo  ti  lascio perchk  uniti  ...3 

from  the  first  act  of  il  Matrimonio  segreto,  and  for  the  sublime  aria 
from  Romeo  e  Giulietta : 

Orribra  adorata,  aspetta  .,.4 

Here  is  a  true  story;  it  can  be  read  at  great  length  in  certain  ancient 
and  dusty  manuscripts  preserved  in  Bologna,  which,  however,  are  by 
no  means  easy  of  access.5  In  the  year  1273,  Bonifazio  Jeremei,  son  of 
a  family  whose  sympathies  were  Guelph  to  the  point  of  frenzy,  fell 
violently  in  love  with  Isnelda,  daughter  of  the  famous  Orlando 
Lambertazzi,  one  of  the  leaders  of  the  Ghibelline  faction;  and  un 
questionably  the  ribald  jokes  bandied  from  mouth  to  mouth  among 
the  young  men  of  the  Guelph  party  concerning  the  renowned  beauty 
of  Isnelda  played  a  large  part  in  attracting  JeremeFs  love  towards 

1  In  a  land  where  the  first  condition  of  survival  is  to  be  forgotten  by  a  dozen  or 
more  evil-minded  and  otherwise  unoccupied  Ministers  of  the  Crown,  there  can  be 
no  question  of  enjoying  the  proper  flattery  and  pleasure  of  being  distinguished  in 
public  by  the  attentions  of  a  woman  of  fashion.  Even  if  this  may  not  be  the  actual 
case  in  Italy  to-day,  it  was  undeniably  so  a  hundred  years  ago,  when  the  historian 
Giannone  was  murdered  in  prison;  and  though  laws  may  change,  the  changes  do 
not  begin  to  affect  traditional  habits  of  behaviour  for  at  least  a  hundred  years. 

2  St  Philip    Neri  invented  the  oratorio  in  fifteen-hundred-and-something. 
Cf,  the  monk's  scene  in  Machiavelli's  beautiful  comedy,  Mandragola,  The  monk 
complains  that  there  are  no  more  processions  in  the  evenings. 

3  I  leave  you  because  you  are  united  ...  4  Adored  shade,  wait ... ! 

5  Cf.  the  Letter  written  by  M.  Courier  (1812),  concerning  the  ink-spot,  the 
learned  scholar  Furia  and  the  Chamberlain  Pulcini. 


448  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

this  particular  object.  Despite  the  hatred  which  divided  their 
families,  they  met  secretly  in  a  convent;  and,  forced  by  circumstances 
to  avoid  each  other's  gaze  when,  at  this  or  that  religious  celebration, 
they  came  face  to  face  in  church,  their  passion,  feeding  on  the  fuel  of 
such  obstacles,  blazed  only  the  fiercer.  At  length  Isnelda  consented  to 
receive  her  lover  in  her  chamber;  but  one  of  the  spies,  set  every 
evening  by  her  brothers  to  watch  about  the  precincts  of  the  palace, 
came  to  them  with  the  news  that  a  stranger,  young  and  apparently 
well-armed,  had  just  been  seen  to  force  an  entrance.  The  Lambert- 
azzi  gathered  in  strength,  and  broke  down  the  door  of  their  sister's 
room;  and  one  of  them,  while  she  fled,  struck  Bonifazio  in  the  breast 
with  a  poisoned  dagger,  of  the  kind  whose  use  was  taught  in  Italy  by 
the  Saracen  marauders.  Indeed,  at  the  very  same  date  as  the  events 
recorded  in  this  narrative,  the  Old  Man  of  the  Mountain,  so  feared 
and  hated  by  the  Princes  of  the  West,  was  arming  his  band  of  young 
fanatics,  later  renowned  throughout  the  world  under  the  title  of 
Assassins,  with  weapons  of  this  character.  Bonifazio  fell  beneath  the 
blow;  the  Lambertazzi  bore  him  away  into  some  deserted  courtyard 
of  their  palace,  and  there  concealed  his  body  beneath  a  pile  of  broken 
ruins.  Scarcely  had  they  finished,  and  were  withdrawing,  when 
Isnelda,  following  the  trail  of  blood  down  the  countless  stairways  of 
her  father's  house,  arrived  at  last  within  the  hidden  court,  deserted 
and  overgrown  with  weeds  as  tall  as  a  man  standing,  in  which  they 
had  hidden  the  body  of  her  lover.  It  seemed  to  her  that  a  faint  spark 
of  life  still  stirred  within  him.  Now  there  was  a  popular  belief  that,  if 
someone  could  be  found  whose  devotion  were  of  such  a  selfless  qual 
ity  that  he  or  she  were  willing  to  sacrifice  life  itself,  the  victim  might 
yet  be  saved  by  having  the  poison  from  the  wound  made  by  this 
lethal  oriental  dagger  sucked  out  of  his  body.  Isnelda  knew  the  fatal 
properties  of  her  brothers*  weapons;  yet  she  threw  herself  across  the 
body  of  her  lover,  and  drew  into  her  own  system  his  poisoned  blood. 
But  he  remained  as  lifeless  as  ever;  and  not  many  minutes  passed 
before  she  was  dying  also.  Some  hours  afterwards,  when  her  women, 
made  anxious  by  her  prolonged  absence,  at  length  discovered  her 
deserted  sanctuary,  they  found  her  lifeless,  stretched  across  that  other 
lifeless  corpse  of  him  whom  she  had  loved. 

This  is  the  degree  of  love  which  deserves  to  find  eternity  in  art. 

The  actual  city  of  Naples,  compared  with  Milan  (and  for  the 


THE  SAN-CARLO  THEATRE  449 

instant  forgetting  about  the  climate)  has  one  peculiar  glory  of  its 
own,  the  magnificent  Casaciello,1  and  his  individual  artistry  in  per 
forming  a  certain  opera  by  Paesiello,  which,  I  believe,  together  with 
Nina,  is  the  only  one  which  still  survives  in  the  modern  repertoire. 
"If  you  have  ever  laughed  in  your  life,"  I  might  say  to  some  clumsy 
English  squire?  whose  solemn  head  is  all  one  whirl  of  earnest  argu 
ments  concerning  the  Utility  of  Foreign  Bible  Societies  and  the 
Immorality  of  the  French  Nation,  "go  to  Naples  and  see  Casacia  in 
la  Scuffiara  ossia  la  Modista  raggiratrice" 

Numerous  different  factors  serve  to  intensify  the  Italian's  natural 
leaning  towards  music.  How  is  a  man  to  read,  for  instance,  when 
three  out  of  every  four  books  published  are  intercepted  by  the  police, 
who  then  parade  about  the  town  with  little  red  note-books  jotting 
down  the  name  of  anyone  rash  enough  to  read  the  one  which  got 
away?  It  follows  that,  in  Italy,  no  one  reads  books;  all  serious  dis 
cussion  is  suppressed;  and  the  very  unaccustomedness  of  reading 
transforms  a  book  into  a  grim  and  Herculean  labour,  the  merest 
thought  of  which  sends  a  shudder  down  the  spine  of  the  average 
young  man  in  Italy.  Now  a  book,  even  though  it  be  no  more  than  the 
shoddiest  of  pamphlets,  is  a  distraction  from  a  man's  own  thoughts; 
it  absorbs  the  residue  of  his  emotion  drop  by  drop,  so  to  speak,  as  it 
is  distilled  from  the  various  incidents  of  daily  existence,  before  these 
drops  accumulate  and  merge  into  torrential  streams  of  passion.  But 
when  emotion  is  annihilated  by  immediate  distraction,  it  has  no  time 
to  make  extravagant  estimates  of  the  value  of  anything. 

Alone  amid  the  enforced  and  silent  solitude  of  booklessness,  living 
in  a  land  bowed  low  beneath  the  double  tyranny  of  Church  and 
State,  in  towns  whose  very  streets  are  paved  with  spies,  our  poor 
young  man  knows  no  escape  from  his  own  depressing  company  save 
in  his  voice  and  in  his  crack-toned  harpsichord;  and  further,  he  is 
driven  to  contemplate  at  length  the  images  and  impressions  formed 
within  his  soul* — the  only  novelty  which  lies  within  his  grasp! 

Our  young  man,  then,  by  dint  of  analysing  every  aspect  of  his  own 
emotions,  comes  to  be  aware,  and  more  especially,  to  be  sensually  con 
scious,  of  subtle  shades  and  differences  which  would  have  altogether 

1  The  Casaciello  family  closely  resembles  the  Vestris  family;  the  present 
representative,  who  reigns  at  the  teatro  dei  Fiorentini  (the  The&tre  Feydeau  of 
Naples)  is  the  third  of  that  name. 

*  In  English  in  the  original.  (Trans.) 


450  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

slipped  beneath  his  notice  if,  like  his  English  opposite,  he  were 
to  find  upon  his  writing-desk  the  distracting  pages  of  Quentin 
Durward,  or  an  article  from  the  Morning  Chronicle;  for  nothing  is 
less  true  than  the  fond  belief  that  emotional  self-analysis  is  always  a 
delightful  occupation,  particularly  at  the  first  instant  of  taking  the 
plunge  into  the  depths  of  one's  own  soul.  By  analysis,  the  intensity  of 
sorrow  is  a  hundred-fold  increased,  whereas  the  intensity  of  joy  is 
only  diminished.  But  in  Naples,  as  far  as  I  was  able  to  observe,  there 
is  precisely  one  distraction,  only  one,  which  the  law  does  not  forbid  to 
those  passions  which  the  climate  breeds  in  Neapolitan  hearts,  and 
that  is  music;  and  music  itself,  being  but  another  expression  of  these 
same  passions,  thus  tends  only  to  increase  their  agonizing  violence. 


M, 


CHAPTER  XLVI 

Of  the  Peoples  of  Northern  Europe, 
considered  as  Musicians 


_usic  is  killed  by  prudent  reflection;  the  more  a  race  is  gov 
erned  by  its  passions,  the  less  it  has  acquired  the  habit  of  cautious 
"  and  reasoned  argument,  the  more  intense  will  be  its  love  of  music. 

The  Frenchman  is  lively  and  inconstant,  but  he  is  perpetually  busy; 
every  career  is  open  to  his  ambition;  and  no  man  thinks  himself  too 
rich  to  waste  his  energy  gambling  on  the  stock-exchange.  The 
Frenchman  may  aspire  to  victory  on  the  field  of  battle  as  freely  as  to 
victory  in  the  arena  of  letters,  for  the  name  of  Marengo  rings  as 
proudly  through  Europe  as  the  name  of  Voltaire;  and  in  society 
(that  is  to  say,  as  soon  as  two  people  are  joined  by  a  third)  his  main 
concern  is  for  his  vanity*,  which  he  is  constantly  and  lovingly  tending, 
whether  to  pave  the  way  for  its  eventual  triumphs,  or  whether  to 
shield  its  delicate  constitution  against  potential  evil.  He  can  devote 
more  serious  cogitation  to  weighing  the  chances  of  a  pun  than  to 
anything  else  in  the  world;  and  the  prudence  of  cautious  calculation 
never  deserts  him  for  an  instant.  Even  in  Ms  wildest  orgies  of  merri 
ment,  he  never  surrenders  blindly,  both  body  and  soul,  to  the  con 
tagious  impulses  of  the  moment,  utterly  regardless  of  the  conse 
quences.  In  society,  he  has  learned  to  make  himself  irreproachably 
charming;  but  only  because  he  is  at  greater  conscious  pains  to  please 
society  than  to  perform  any  other  task.1  The  French  are  the  wittiest, 
the  most  charming,  and  (up  to  the  present  at  all  events)  the  least 
musical  race  on  earth. 

By  contrast,  the  Italian,  with  his  ever-smouldering  passions,  or  the 
German,  perpetually  swept  upwards  and  onwards  by  the  whirlwind 
of  his  vagabond  imagination,  and  for  ever  weaving  himself  passions 

1  "A  fool  sitting  beside  me  at  the  Theatre  du  Gymnase",  says  Guasco,  "is 
mightily  pleased  with  to-night*  s  idiotic  performance;  and  why  not?  He  has  seen 
nothing  so  amusing  all  the  long  day.  Whereas  I,  thanks  to  the  extravagance  of 
my  imagination,  have  seen  many  delightful  things,  some  even  of  angelic  beauty— 
but  then,  of  course,  I  cut  a  sorry  figure  in  a  salon!" 


452  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

from  the  very  threads  of  his  own  fancy — these  are  par  excellence 
people  who  live  and  breathe  in  the  sweet  fantasies  conjured  up  in  a 
duet  by  Rossini  or  in  some  delicious  aria  by  Paesiello.  There  is  a 
difference,  however,  between  the  music  of  the  two  races ;  for  the 
German,  who  is  indebted  to  the  icy  climate  of  the  North  for  a 
coarser  physical  fibre,  will  require  his  music  to  be  noisier ;  and  further, 
this  same  cold,  which  spreads  in  a  frozen  blast  over  the  sighing  forests 
of  Germania,  having  conspired  with  the  absence  of  wine  to  deprive 
him  of  a  singing  voice,  while  his  paternally  feudal  government  has 
bred  him  since  birth  in  habits  of  limitless  patience,  he  will  auto 
matically  turn  to  instrumental  music  to  satisfy  his  urge  for  emo 
tional  fulfilment.1  The  Italian  believes  in  God  when  he  is  frightened, 
and  is  always  tempted  to  turn  his  hand  to  the  gentle  art  of  swindling, 
because,  during  all  the  life-time  he  has  known,  he  has  seen  himself 
relentlessly  oppressed  by  the  meanest  and  most  usuriously  implacable 
of  tyrannies;  whereas  the  German  deceives  no  one  and  believes 
everything;  and  the  harder  he  reasons,  the  more  he  believes.  Herr  von 
G**n,  the  leading  jurisconsult  in  Germany,  sees  ghosts  at  night  in  his 
Schloss.  The  modern  German  has  inherited  from  Tacitus'  Germani 
an  unbelievably  credulous  and  unsuspicious  nature;  thus  every  good 
German,  before  taking  him  a  wife,  courts  her  publicly  for  three  or 
four  years  on  end.  In  France,  if  this  habit  were  to  grow  common, 
there  would  never  be  any  marriages ;  but  in  Germany,  they  are  rarely 
known  to  be  broken  off.  A  young  lady  of  the  highest  rank  has  been 
known  to  treat  her  lover  to  a  fit  of  the  sulks,  and  to  have  upbraided 
him  in  no  half-hearted  fashion,  for  having  detected  in  him  an  in 
cautious  grain  of  disbelief  respecting  the  magic  bullets  of  der  Frei- 
schutz?  The  Graf  von  W***,  who  is  a  young  and  highly  distinguished 
diplomat,  besides  being  a  most  handsome  man,  once  mentioned  in 
my  hearing  how  he  and  his  brothers,  when  they  were  about  seven 
teen,  used  to  fast  every  year  without  fail  on  the  night  of  the  9th  of 
November,  and  on  the  following  day,  set  out  for  a  certain  valley  in 
the  Harz  Mountains,  where,  their  heads  crowned  with  ivy-wreaths, 

1  A  young  man  named  Kreutzer,  from  Vienna,  has  recently  composed  an 
unbelievably  beautiful  violin-sonata;  he  is  one  of  the  bright  hopes  of  music.  If 
neither  vanity  nor  avarice  manage  to  spoil  Fraiilein  Delphine  Schauroth,  and  if 
she  goes  to  Italy,  she  will  one  day  become  the  Paganini  of  the  piano. 

2  The  Grafin  von  ***,  near  Halberstadt  The  story  of  der  Freischutz  is  a  tradi 
tional  folk-tale,  which  Jean-Paul  has  turned  into  a  charming  Novelle,  and  Maria 
Weber  into  a  noisy  opera. 


NORTHERN  EUROPEANS  AS  MUSICIANS  453 

and  observing  all  the  other  rites  laid  down  by  tradition,  they  would 
proceed  to  "cast  magic  bullets".  Later  on,  having  gone  to  the  Forest 
of  Nordheim,  and  there,  from  a  distance  of  six  hundred  paces,  aimed 
at  a  wild  boar,  and  (not  unnaturally)  missed,  they  would  stand  and 
gape  with  startled  incredulity.  "And  yet,"  added  the  Graf  von  W***, 
"I  am  not  more  feeble-minded  than  another." 

Thanks  to  his  Bible,  the  Englishman  dwells  in  a  vale  of  perpetual 
gloom;  and  his  bishops  and  rightful  lords  have  forbidden  him,  ever 
since  the  days  of  Locke,  to  busy  his  head  with  abstract  logic.  If  you 
mention  some  interesting  discovery,  or  talk  to  him  of  some  sublime 
theory,  the  reply  is  always  the  same:  "How  can  I  use  that  here  and 
nowT*  His  only  concern  lies  in  practical,  day-to-day  utility.  Goaded 
inexorably  onward  by  the  pressure  of  incessant  labour,  which  alone 
can  ward  off  the  ever-present  danger  of  starvation  and  penury*,  those 
classes  of  society  in  whose  midst  the  flame  of  pure  intelligence  burns 
brightest  have  not  an  instant  of  the  day  which  may  be  sacrificed  to 
art;  and  this  is  the  Englishman's  greatest  disadvantage.  A  young  man 
in  Germany  or  Italy,  for  instance,  knows  no  other  call  on  all  his  end 
less  time  than  the  art  of  making  love,  and  even  those  who  work  the 
hardest  suffer  little  encroachment  on  their  liberty,  if  one  compares 
the  lightness  of  their  occupations,  which  never  stretch  beyond  the 
early  afternoon,  with  the  harsh  and  barbarous  labour  which,  thanks 
to  the  English  aristocracy  and  Mr  Pitt,  burdens  the  wretched  Briton 
for  a  good  dozen  hours  out  of  every  twenty-four.1  Yet  the  English 
man's  most  striking  characteristic  is  his  shyness;  and  it  is  to  this 
joyless  aspect  of  his  nature,  bred  partly  by  puritanism,  partly  by  the 
aristocratic  structure  of  the  society  in  which  he  lives,  that  his  love  of 
music  is  largely  due.  It  is  dangerous  to  expose  oneself;2  and  this  fear 
of  ridicule,  which  inhibits  every  young  Englishman,  compels  him  to 

1  When  I  was  in  Liverpool,  I  was  taken  to  see  some  fourteen-year-old  children 
who  worked  sixteen  or  eighteen  hours  a  day;  this  incident  occurred  on  an  occa 
sion  when  I  chanced  to  be  walking  with  a  party  of  young  todies,  aged  eighteen 
or  so,  not  one  of  whom  had  less  than  £4,000  a  year,  nor  a  single  idea  in  his  thick 
head — not  even  that  of  throwing  a  shilling  to  these  poor,  downtrodden  wretches. 
The  Italian  is  politically  crushed;  but  at  least  his  time  is  his  own;  the  poorest 
urchin  in  the  streets  of  Naples  is  as  untrammelled  in  pursuing  the  will-o'-the^wisps 
of  his  own  desire  as  the  wild  boar  in  the  forests;  and  to  my  mind,  he  is  less 
wretched,  and  above  all,  less  brutalized  in  spirit,  than  the  Birmingham  labourer. 
Moreover,  bratalization  of  the  spirit  is  contagious;  the  noble  lord  in  his  mansion 
is  very  far  from  being  untouched  by  the  boorishness  of  the  ignorant  worker. 

2  In  English  in  the  original.  (Trans.) 


454  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

preserve  the  strictest  silence  concerning  his  emotions.  But  this  very 
reticence,  itself  answering  the  exactions  of  a  spirit  of  proper  pride, 
lends  itself  to  the  encouragement  of  music;  music  is  his  only  confi 
dant;  yet  to  music  he  will  often  entrust  the  secrets  of  his  most  inti 
mate  and  personal  feelings. 

It  is  enough  to  see  the  Beggar's  Opera,  or  to  hear  the  voice  of  Miss 
Stephens,  or  of  the  renowned  Thomas  Moore,  to  be  convinced  that 
the  Englishman,  beneath  his  insensitive  frame,  conceals  a  very  real 
vein  of  feeling  and  of  love  for  music.  This  disposition,  in  my  experi 
ence,  is  most  noticeable  in  Scotland;  for  the  Scot  is  infinitely  more 
imaginative,  and  with  this,  is  condemned  to  long,  dull  evenings  of 
dreary  inaction  by  the  timeless  darkness  of  his  northern  winter. 

This  consideration  brings  me  back  once  more  to  the  subject  of  poor 
Italy  and  her  enforced  idleness ;  for  a  creative  imagination  working  in 
the  emptiness  of  unwanted  leisure  is  the  first  and  necessary  condition 
which  produces  music.  On  the  occasion  of  my  first  visit  to  Scotland, 
I  landed  at  Inverness ;  and  there  it  chanced  that  my  first  impression 
was  of  a  Highland  wake,  and  of  the  old,  old  women  keening  and 
chanting  over 

This  scrap  of  clay  from  which  the  breath  of  life 
Has  gone  for  ever  . . . 1 

This  race,  I  argued,  must  be  musical.  On  the  day  following,  as  I  rode 
round  the  crofts,  I  heard  music  welling  up  from  all  sides.  Admittedly, 
it  was  not  Italian  music — no,  it  was  something  far  better;  for  this  was 
Scotland,  and  the  music  was  native  to  the  soil  from  which  it  had 
sprung.  If  Scotland,  instead  of  being  poor  and  barren,  were  a  land  of 
wealth  and  prosperity;  if  chance  had  decreed  that  Edinburgh  should 
have  been  the  seat  of  a  powerful  monarch,  and,  like  St  Petersburg, 
the  centre  of  a  rich  and  idle  aristocracy,  I  do  not  doubt  for  an  instant 
but  that  the  subterranean  springs  of  natural  music,  which  well  up 
now  among  the  moss-grown  boulders  of  the  ancient  Kingdom  of 
Caledonia,  would  have  been  carefully  caught,  preserved,  purified  and 
distilled  into  a  quintessence  of  ideal  beauty,  and  that,  in  due  course, 
the  term  Scottish  music  would  have  sounded  as  familiar  in  our  ears  as 
that  of  German  music  does  to-day.  The  land  which  has  given  us 

1  A  literal  translation  of  the  dirge,  which  my  guide  provided  for  me  on  the  spur 
of  the  moment. 


NORTHERN  EUROPEANS  AS  MUSICIANS  455 

Ossian,  with  the  sombre,  haunting  magic  of  his  legends,  or  the  Tales 
of  my  Landlord,  the  land  which  finds  its  pride  in  Robert  Burns,  might 
unquestionably  be  expected  to  give  Europe  a  new  Haydn  or  another 
Mozart.  Yet  stop  a  while,  and  think  of  Haydn's  early  years;  and  then 
of  Burns,  brought  near  to  death  by  poverty  and  want,  and  nearer  by 
the  brandy  which  he  took  to  help  him  to  forget  his  desperation.  If 
Haydn  had  not  been  blessed  by  fate  since  childhood  by  the  protection 
of  three  or  four  wealthy  patrons,  and  by  the  interest  of  a  powerful 
institution  (the  choir-school  of  the  Cathedral  of  St  Stephen),  the 
greatest  symphonist  of  Germany  might  easily  have  remained  an 
incompetent  wheelwright  in  the  town  of  Rohran  in  Hungary.  But 
Prince  Esterhazy  heard  Haydn,  and  gave  him  a  post  in  his  orchestra; 
a  Hungarian  prince,  you  understand,  is  not  at  all  the  same  sort  of 
person  as  a  stout  and  hard-headed  Peer  with  a  seat  in  the  Home 
Counties.  One  has  only  to  follow  up  the  relationship  between  Haydn1 
and  Prince  Esterhazy,  to  cease  for  ever  to  marvel  at  the  different 
destinies  of  Haydn  and  of  Burns;  and  even  the  ostentatious  statue 
recently  erected  in  Burns*  memory  will  cease  to  be  a  wonder. 

For  twenty  years  and  more,  a  film  of  the  filthiest  hypocrisy  has 
been  spreading  like  a  loathsome  leprosy  over  the  life  and  manners  of 
the  two  most  civilized  peoples  in  the  world.  In  France,  every  man  in 
power,  from  the  lowest  jack-in-office  to  the  Minister  at  Court,  sneers 
at  the  pious-cynical  posturing  of  his  superiors,  while  feeling  called 
upon  to  wear  a  similar  mask  of  episcopal  righteousness  for  the  benefit 
of  his  subordinates.2  M.  ***  has  a  modest  government  pension,  and 
often  stands  in  front  of  the  print-dealer's  shop  on  the  corner,  admir 
ing  lithographs  in  the  window;  but  his  admiration  is  compulsorily 
graded  in  exact  proportion  to  the  piety  of  each  artist;  otherwise, 
should  he  fail  to  corrupt  Ms  own  conscience  even  in  this,  the  most 
frivolous  of  all  the  arts,  he  may  be  sure  that,  at  the  next  ministerial 
purge,  some  faithful  family  friend,  who  spends  Ms  time  submitting 

1  Cf.  Vies  de  Haydn,  de  Mozart  et  de  M&astase  [by  Stendhal],  p.  56  [1824 
edition;  Edition  Champion,  p.  51]. 

2  Under  the  Napoleonic  regime,  a  Prefet  was  known  to  have  summoned  a 
certain  student,  who  was  studying  at  Montpellier  under  Professor  Broussonnet, 
into  his  presence,  and  to  have  brought  this  grave  charge  against  him:  Sir,  the 
thesis  which  you  were  defending  yesterday  is  anti-catholic!  The  thesis  in  question 
had  dealt  with  a  certain  disease  of  the  lower  abdomen,  whose  first  symptom  was 
acute  depression;  the  student  should,  of  course,  have  realized  that  depression  is 
a  state  of  the  mind,  and  therefore  that  its  cause  is  to  be  sought  for  in  the  soul. 


456  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

countless  little  mis-spelt  reports  on  "morale  and  loyalty*'  to  the 
authorities,  will  unfailingly  see  to  it  that  Ms  pension  is  stopped  at 
source.  Here  we  have  one  more  decency — the  decency  of  hypocrisy — 
come  to  drive  yet  another  nail  into  the  coffin  of  joy  and  spontaneity 
in  France.  As  for  England  ... !  Let  me  simply  transcribe  a  sentence 
from  the  pen  of  her  greatest  poet: 

The  cant  which  is  the  crying  sin  of  this  double-dealing  and  false- 
speaking  time  of  selfish  spoilers  ...1 

Painting  in  France  has  already  been  done  to  death  by  hypocrisy;  is 
music  likewise  to  be  caught  and  crushed  in  the  entanglement  of  its 
tentacles? 

In  Italy,  the  hypocrite  has  no  delight  in  his  hypocrisy;  the  peril  is 
so  threatening  and  close  that  dissimulation  is  the  merest  prudence, 
and  so  ceases  to  be  degrading. 

I  have  been  guilty  of  many  extravagances  in  this  work;  and  so,  to 
excuse  them,  and  so  that  it  may  stand  as  a  corrective,  I  beg  my  reader 
to  allow  me  to  set  down  a  Letter  written  by  Mademoiselle  de 
Lespinasse,  which  is  not  included  in  the  Correspondence  of  this  cele 
brated  lady  as  it  was  published  a  few  years  ago*. 

AN 

APOLOGY 

FOR  THOSE  FAULTS  WHICH  MY  FRIENDS  ARE  APT  TO  CALL 

MY  EXTRAVAGANCES,  MY  ENTHUSIASMS,  MY  CONTRADICTIONS, 

MY  NON-SEQUWURS,  MY  ...  ETC.,  ETC. 

This  Tuesday,  the  thirty-first  day 

of  January,  1775. 

Indeed!  I  do  believe  that  this  is  but  another  snare  which  you  have  set 
to  bring  about  my  downfall!  Yesterday  you  smiled  and  said:  To 
morrow  you  are  to  see  la  Fausse  Magie;  /  entreat  therefore  of  your 
friendship,  that  you  will  write  me  your  opinion  on  what  you  have  seen. 
But  you  know  too  well,  I  replied,  that  I  hold  no  opinions,  and  that  I 
never  judge.  No  matter,  you  insisted;  I  adore  to  hear  your  impressions, 
in  the  first  place,  because  they  are  true,  and  in  the  second,  because  they 
are  extravagant,  and  being  so,  I  delight  in  contesting  them.  This 

1  Preface  to  the  concluding  cantos  of  Don  Juan.  These  final  cantos  contain  the 
finest  poetry  which  I  have  read  for  twenty  years.  The  onslaught  of  Ishmael 
obliterates  the  memory  of  the  dreariness  of  Cain. 


AN  APOLOGY  457 

observation,  which  you  believe  to  be  so  well-founded,  should  have 
checked  me  in  my  stride;  and  after  such  a  warning,  I  should  have 
stopped  and  argued  out  a  prudent,  modest,  closely-reasoned  judgment; 
it  would,  doubtless,  have  been  in  execrable  taste,  and  wholly  unfur 
nished  with  any  exact  knowledge  of  the  subject  under  discussion;  but 
at  least  it  would  have  left  intelligent  minds  unshocked,  if  only  because 
such  minds  are  indulgent  towards  the  weaknesses  of  others;  and  I  should 
have  earned  thereby  the  admiration  of  fools,  for  a  fool  admires  no  one 
so  earnestly  as  a  true  dullard.  Dullness  leaves  a  fool  still  king  in  his 
own  realm,  whereas  vivifying  impressions  and  deep,  disturbing  motions 
of  the  soul  do  but  wound  him  and  set  him  in  a  turmoil,  yet  never  shed 
the  least  ray  of  enlightenment  upon  his  spirit,  nor  reflect  the  smallest 
warmth  within  his  souL 

For  all  that,  however,  caution  shall  be  cast  to  the  winds;  I  shall  not 
respect  intelligence  any  more  than  foolishness;  I  shall  not  even  fear 
jour  judgment,  for  I  surrender  in  advance.  I  shall  seem  silly,  absurd,  or 
what  you  will;  but  I  shall  be  myself. 

I  derived  pleasure,  great  pleasure  even,  from  this  opera,  and  I  defy 
the  critics  one  and  all  to  prove  that  I  was  wrong.  I  admired  the  genius 
of  Gretry;  my  enthusiasm  made  me  exclaim  twenty  times;  Never  was 
there  anything  so  exquisite!  Never  before  has  music  been  so  subtle, 
witty  and  enchanting!  It  is  as  amusing,  arresting  and  supple  as  the  con 
versation  of  a  man  of  brilliant  gifts,  who  understands  how  to  be  always 
absorbing  and  never  exhausting,  whose  style  is  never  more  eager  nor 
more  passionate  than  the  subject  demands,  and  whose  language  only 
seems  to  gain  in  richness  for  being  perpetually  restrained  by  the  modest 
bounds  of  taste.  Finally,  I  maintained,  if  the  composer  of  this  music 
were  unknown  to  me,  I  should  move  heaven  and  earth  to  become 
acquainted  with  him  from  this  very  day.  I  was  ceaselessly  animated, 
ceaselessly  borne  aloft  on  wings  of  rapture;  the  orchestra  seemed  to 
speak  to  my  heart  in  a  language  plainer  than  words;  and  again  and 
again  I  cried  out:  This  is  delightful!  Indeed,  I  will  say  it  again  now:  it 
is  delightful  to  spend  two  unbroken  hours  in  the  company  of  sweet  and 
caressing  sensations,  truly  reflecting  Nature,  and  yet  ever  varied.  The 
words,  I  thought,  were  charming;  and  I  felt  that,  from  beginning  to 
end,  the  dramatist  had  had  no  other  object  than  to  bring  out  the  finest 
qualities  in  the  composer.  The  songs  were  distributed  with  much  intelli 
gence  and  taste;  and  the  poet  had  learned  the  secret  of  making  his  old 


LR 


458  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

men  as  comic  and  amusing  as  those  of  Holier e.  Gretry  has  woven  this 
particular  scene  into  a  duet  which  portrays  its  gaiety  and  merriment  in 
a  manner  which  is  as  lively  as  it  is  original.  Anyway,  what  more  can  I 
say?  I  was  enthralled,  enchanted;  and  as  I  cannot  criticize  a  thing 
which  has  afforded  me  so  much  pleasure,  I  have  no  other  resource  but 
to  applaud  and  adore  it. 

Wait,  though!  I  can  see  you,  I  can  hear  you  already,  smiling  in 
anticipation,  sure  that  I  am  about  to  raise  Gretry  above  Gluck,  if  only 
because  the  impression  of  the  present  instant,  however  feeble  in  itself, 
is  stronger  than  that  of  a  past  already  distant.  Is  it  not  so?  Then  you 
shall  be  disappointed;  and  I  will  pray  you  to  observe  that,  even  when 
I  exaggerate,  my  praise  is  never  exclusive;  for  when  I  extol,  the 
praise  comes  from  my  heart,  not  from  my  mind,  and  in  my  heart  I  hate 
disparagement;  moreover,  I  am  one  of  those  fortunate  beings  whose 
soul  can  embrace  two  different  objects,  in  appearance  defiant  opposites, 
and  adore  both  to  the  point  of  madness:  in  consequence,  I  may  say 
sincerely  that  I  love  and  cherish  the  genius  of  M.  Gretry,  and  that  I 
admire  and  esteem  that  ofM.  Gluck.  But  since  lam  neither  learned  nor 
gifted  nor  foolish  enough  to  assign  rank  and  status  to  this  genius  and  to 
that,  I  have  no  intention  of  pronouncing  which  is  the  better,  nor  even  of 
comparing  abilities  which,  in  my  opinion,  should  not  be  set  beside  one 
another.  lam  ignorant  of  the  disparity  of  talent  which  Nature  has  set 
between  them;  but  this  I  do  know,  that  even  if  their  degree  of  genius 
had  been  identical  in  every  particular,  each  would  have  found  himself 
compelled  to  make  utterly  dissimilar  use  of  it,  since,  in  opera,  the 
comic  style  is  not  the  style  of  tragedy. 

The  impression  which  I  received  from  Orfeo  held  no  single  element 
in  common  with  that  which  I  experienced  this  forenoon.  It  was  so  pro 
found,  so  moving,  so  agonizing,  so  absorbing,  that  I  knew  no  words  to 
express  the  content  of  what  I  felt;  I  was  filled  simultaneously  with  the 
yearning  and  with  the  satisfaction  of  passion,  I  was  lost  unless  I  could 
recollect  myself  in  tranquillity;  any  stranger  who  had  not  shared  the 
same  experience  as  I  had  known,  must  have  thought  me  stupid.  This 
music  claimed  so  close  a  correspondence  with  my  soul,  with  the  very 
temper  of  my  most  intimate  being,  that  more  than  twenty  times  I  was 
impelled  to  shut  my  self  in  silence  and  solitude  in  my  own  room,  so  as  to 
renew  the  pleasure  which  I  had  derived  from  these  impressions;  in  a 
word,  these  voices,  melodies,  accents  made  very  grief  a  substance  of 


AN  APOLOGY  459 

delight,  and  I  felt  my  self  for  ever  haunted  by  those  tender  and  lament 
able  strains:  I  have  lost  thee,  O  Eurydice.  And  what  attribute  of  the 
mind  may  serve  to  conjure  up  comparisons  between  this  and  la  Fausse 
Magie?  How  should  that  which  merely  charms  and  entertains  be  set 
beside  an  art  which  fills  the  soul,  which  pierces  it  and  overturns  its 
depths?  How  should  wit  be  compared  with  passion?  How  should  joyous, 
spirited  delight  be  compared  with  that  soft  and  melancholy  mood  where 
anguish  seems  a  sigh  of  divine  bliss?  Ah  no!  I  make  no  comparisons, 
lest  I  lose  an  instant  of  enjoyment.  Yet  such  an  attitude,  to  you,  seems, 
"contradiction  in  preference"  and  "disparity  in  judgment"!  Well  then, 
so  be  it!  I  will  not  be  rational  and  consistent;  I  would  rather  yield  to  the 
faintest  breath  of  sensibility,  to  the  least  tremor  of  every  kind  of  feeling; 
and  I  wih  admonish  you  in  the  words  of  Diderot:  "0  my  good  friends, 
enough  of  rationality;  the  less  we  analyse,  the  more  we  shall  enjoy; 
the  charm  of  things  which  merely  please  and  catch  the  fancy  was  never 
destined  to  submit  to  critical  dissection;  the  least  we  owe  to  what  we 
have  enjoyed  is  our  indulgence,  which  surely  will  neither  corrupt  our 
taste,  nor  make  it  less  exacting." 

So  then,  the  things  which  I  shall  love  shall  be  those  which  stand 
farthest  apart,  those  which  contradict  each  other  most  directly.  I  shall 
love  Gessner,  the  gentle  and  idyllic  Gessner,  who  shall  restore  my  soul 
to  calm  and  quietness.  ...  I  shall  love,  I  shall  be  in  love  with,  I  shall 
kneel  down  and  worship  and  adore  Clarissa,  who,  in  my  eyes,  stands 
among  the  most  beautiful,  the  most  powerful,  the  most  god-like 
achievements  of  the  spirit  of  man;  I  shall  yield  to  the  exaltation  and  the 
rapture  distilled  from  every  drop  of  beauty  which  dwells  in  the  deep 
abundance  of  this  masterpiece.  The  truth,  the  simplicity  of  this  strange 
adventure  will  so  enrich  my  imagination,  that  I  shall  finally  grow  to  be 
convinced  that  there  is  not  one  of  all  the  Harlowes  with  whom  I  have 
not  lived  and  whom  I  have  not  known.  The  fire  which  burns  in  them  will 
burn  in  me;  they  will  awaken  every  passion  which  my  soul  can  harbour; 
yet,  because  I  admire  Clarissa,  /  will  not  disdain  Marianne;  for  here, 
although  I  shall  not  learn  the  truth  of  feeling,  I  shall  discover  the  faith 
ful  portrait  of  vanity;  I  shall  explore  the  depths  of  vanity  through  all 
conditions  and  degrees  of  men.  I  shall  find  pleasure  in  studying  every 
subtle  shade  of  vanity,  described  and  brought  to  life  with  ingenuity  and 
wit.  When  I  read  Clarissa,  /  shall  admire  the  noble  simplicity  of 
Richardson;  and  when  I  read  Marivaux,  I  shall  not  be  ashamed  to 


460  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

love  his  style,  even  his  affectations,  which  are  often  original  and  amus 
ing,  and  always  spiced  with  wit. 

Yes,  in  every  branch  of  art  I  will  love  things  apparently  irreconcilable, 
yet  which,  in  fact,  may  not  be  so  at  all,  save  in  the  minds  of  those  who 
will  be  always  judging,  and  who  are  afflicted  with  the  misfortune  to  be 
insensitive  to  every  shade  of  feeling.  Nature,  it  is  true,  has  given  these 
poor f  creatures  ample  compensation;  they  are  always  richly  satisfied 
with  their  rationality,  their  moderation  and  the  logical  consistency  of 
all  their  tastes;  their  judgment  is  inflexible,  and  so  they  believe  it  to  be 
exact;  their  soul  is  made  of  lead,  and  so  they  think  it  calm  and  philo 
sophic;  they finally,  enjoy  the  satisfactions  of  self-complacency,  whereas 
I  am  lost  for  ever  in  the  trackless  incoherence  of  extravagance  and 
passion.  It  is  true  that  these  folk,  so  staid,  so  solid,  so  utterly  reason 
able,  are  scarcely  aware  of  their  own  existence;  whereas  I  am  never 
conscious  for  an  instant  without  being  racked  by  unspeakable  suffering 
or  dazed  with  ineffable  joy;  they  are  bored,  while  lam  intoxicated;  but 
to  do  justice  both  to  them  and  to  myself,  it  must  be  confessed  that,  if 
they  are  sometimes  wearisome,  I  am  often  exhausting.  He  whose  heart 
is  chill  and  reasonable  may  sometimes  exaggerate;  but  he  whose  soul 
is  caught  up  in  the  restless  tangle  of  passions  lives  in  a  perpetual  chaos 
of  fantastic  and  disproportionate  extravagance;  nor  can  it  be  other 
wise.  Both  strike  beyond  the  target;  but  the  one  has  had  to  make  an 
effort  to  do  so,  whereas  the  other  is  swept  and  driven  forward  by  forces 
outside  his  control;  the  first  has  struggled  step  by  step  up  a  steep  path, 
while  the  second  has  leapt  the  highest  peaks  without  realizing  that  he 
has  left  the  ground.  Lastly,  I  observe  this  difference  between  exaggera 
tion  and  extravagance,  that  those  who  are  guilty  of  the  former  are 
studiously  avoided,  while  those  who  indulge  in  the  latter  are  rebel- 
Hously  abandoned— but  only  to  be  sought  after  anew  on  the  very  day 
following;  for  the  human  soul  knows  no  delight  so  rich  as  to  be  stimu 
lated,  stirred,  excited  ...  and  such  privileges  are  only  to  be  found  in 
contact  with  those  whose  passions  roam  at  large.  Such  persons  rouse 
antagonism,  undoubtedly;  they  jar  on  the  sensibilities  and  are  indescrib 
ably  exhausting;  one  may  criticize  them,  condemn  them,  detest  them 
even;  but  even  while  one  does  so,  their  attraction  still  persists,  irresist 
ibly,  and  against  one's  will  one  goes  to  seek  their  company.  You  may 
protest  that  my  modesty  seems  curiously  in  abeyance,  and  that  I  am 
trumpeting  my  own  commendation  in  tones  so  brazen  that  lam  bound 


AN  APOLOGY  461 

to  shock  the  taste  and  fastidiousness  of  all  "who  are  to  judge  me.  But 
I  am  talking  to  you,  and  you  are  my  friend  first  and  foremost,,  rather 
than  my  judge;  besides,  if  I  were  to  need  an  excuse  for  the  Lucifer9 s- 
pride  which  I  have  just  exhibited,  remember  that  I  am  conducting  my 
own  defence  and  justification,  in  which  special  circumstances  it  is  per 
missible  to  speak  of  oneself  as  one  would  normally  speak  only  of 
others;  there  is  therefore  no  question  of  appearing  modest,  but  only  of 
being  true. 

So  let  me  return  to  my  proofs;  and  I  will  add,  that  while  I  have  a 
passionate  fondness  for  Racine,  I  haw  discovered  passages  in  Shakes 
peare  which  have  transported  me  into  a  universe  of  strange  delight — 
and  yet,  if  ever  there  were  contradiction,  surely  it  is  between  these  two. 
The  reader  is  entranced,  enthralled  by  the  classical  perfection  of 
Racine,  by  the  elegance,  the  subtlety,  the  charm  of  his  language; 
whereas  Shakespeare  is  disgusting  and  repulsive  in  his  barbaric  taste- 
lessness,  and  yet,  in  spite  of  this,  one  is  caught  unawares,  stunned, 
swept  off  one's  feet  by  the  power  of  his  originality  and  by  the  nobility  of 
his  feeling  and  language  in  certain  passages.  Therefore,  I  pray  you9 
allow  me  to  love  both  one  and  the  other.  I  adore  the  naive  simplicity  of 
La  Fontaine;  but  I  adore  also  the  witty,  artificial  ingenuity  of  La 
Motte. 

Yet  if  I  were  to  examine  every  aspect  of  art  and  letters,  I  should 
never  make  an  end;  for  I  should  have  to  say  that  I  dote  upon  the 
geniality  of  old  Plutarch,  and  admire  the  cynical  severity  of  La  Roche 
foucauld;  I  love  the  cheerful  disorder  of  Montaigne;  but  I  am  equally 
fond  of  the  ordered  meticulousness  and  method  of  Helvetius. 

But  now  I  can  hear  you  protesting;  what  need  was  there  to  plague  me 
with  all  the  details  of  your  private  likes  and  dislikes?  Why  did  you  not 
rather  say  plainly,  "7  take  pleasure  in  all  art,  provided  that  it  be  good 
art" ?  Indeed,  why  not?— yet  pray  recall  that  this  is  precisely  what  I 
have  said  a  hundred  times,  but  that  I  have  never  yet  persuaded  you  to 
believe  me;  else  why  should  you  weary  me  with  endless  repetitions,  that 
I  praise  too  much,  that  lam  extravagant,  outree,  that  I  have  no  sense 
of  proportion?  Suppose  that  I  should  set  out  first  to  prove,  by  reason 
and  argument,  that  I  am  right  to  love  the  things  I  love— but  love 
springs  from  the  very  soul  itself,  not  from  the  reasoning  mind.  I  beg  you 
to  be  patient  with  me,  while  I  repeat  what  you  have  often  heard  before: 
I  feel  everything  adjudge  nothing;  and  therefore  you  will  never  hear 


462  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

me  say  that  this  is  good  or  that  is  bad;  instead,  I  mil  rather  exclaim  a 
thousand  times  a  day:  This  I  love!  Yes,  I  love,  I  shall  love,  and  I  shall 
never  cease  to  be  in  love  with  love  while  there  is  breath  left  in  me;  I 
shall  love  all  things  for  the  same  good  argument  and  reason  as  a  certain 
great  and  intelligent  "woman  once  said  she  loved  her  nephews:  I  love 
the  elder  because  he  is  clever,  and  the  younger  because  he  is  stupid. 
O,  how  right  she  was!  And  so  I  shall  resemble  her,  and  say:  I  love 
mustard  because  it  is  hot  and  strong,  and  blanc-mange  because  it  is 
cool  and  soft.  Yet  do  not  suspect,  because  lam  omnivorous,  because  I 
am  possessed  of  an  insatiable  appetite  for  affection  in  infinite  diversity, 
that  there  is  therefore  nothing  in  man,  in  art,  in  all  the  world,  which  I 
should  find  disgusting,  noisome  or  repugnant!  God  in  Heaven!  If  I  were 
to  enter  into  detail,  there  would  never  be  an  end  of  it . . .  suffice  it  if  I  tell 
you  just  one  or  two  of  the  things  which  I  cannot  tolerate.  Firstly,  then, 
verse  devoid  alike  of  thought  and  feeling,  whose  only  merit  lies  in  its 
virtuosity,  like  that  ofM.  ***  or  M.  ***;  or  verse  which  is  written  in  a 
kind  of  precious  secret  code,  intelligible  only  to  the  author  himself  and 
to  a  private  circle  of  admirers,  like  that  of  M.  ***  or  M.  ***;  or 
tragedies  whose  themes  are  harsh,  impassioned  and  momentous,  and 
whose  style  is  puling,  weak  and  platitudinous,  if  not  positively  un- 
grammatical — like  those  ofM.  ***  or  M.  ***;  or  finally  (since  /must 
make  an  end  of  if)  I  might  say  that  the  precious,  the  mannered,  the 
titillating,  even  the  super-subtle,  above  all  the  insipid,  affect  me  much 
as  senna-pods  or  camomile-tea,  or  other  nauseating  purgatives  and 
drugs;  yet  with  this  difference,  that  necessity  may  sometimes  overcome 
nausea  in  the  case  of  camomile  and  senna,  but  that  nothing  can  make 
palatable  the  hateful  insipidity  of  art,  whose  taste  I  do,  and  did,  and 
always  shall  detest. 

In  the  matter  of  persons,  the  motives  governing  my  respective  atti 
tudes  of  fondness  or  disfavour  are  identical  with  those  which  determine 
my  pleasure  or  repugnance  relating  to  objects  of  the  inanimate  world; 
I  prefer  animals  to  fools;  I  prefer  a  man  of  sensibility  to  a  man  of 
witty  phrases;  I  prefer  a  woman  of  deep  and  passionate  feelings  to  a 
woman  of  cool  and  rational  intellect;  I  prefer  rustic  naivete  to  cultured 
preciosity;  I  like  plain  speaking  better  than  soft  flattery;  and  before  all 
things,  above  all  things,  I  like,  I  love,  I  adore  simplicity  and  kindness 
and  charity  ...  but  the  greatest  of  these  is  charity.  Charity  is  the  virtue 
which  should  dwell  in  the  breasts  of  all  those  who  wield  power;  charity 


AN  APOLOGY  463 

is  the  virtue  which  brings  the  sweetest  comfort  to  those  who  suffer  and 
are  weak;  charity,  finally,  is  the  virtue  which  redeems  every  failing, 
which  consoles  for  every  misfortune;  and  even  if  I  knew  that  others 
would  take  advantage  of  it,  even  if  I  knew  that  I  should  suffer,  were  I 
offered  the  choice  between  the  charitable  kindness  of  Madame  Geoffrin 
and  the  dazzling  beauty  of  Madame  de  Brienne,  I  should  say:  give  me 
charity,  and  I  shall  be  beloved;  kindness  and  charity  are  the  first, 
perhaps  the  only  gifts,  in  whose  possession  I  should  find  delight. 
Unless  I  am  mistaken,  there  is  a  greater  gift  still,  the  gift  oflove;  but 
charity  is  already  a  kind  of  spiritual  affection,  and  he 'who  possesses  it 
is  half  in  love  with  everything  that  languishes  in  suffering  and  mis 
fortune.  Ah!  What  a  wealth,  an  inexhaustible  fountain  of  such  love 
there  is  in  our  poor  world!  And  he  whose  soul  is  filled  to  such  a  pitch 
with  this  great  gift  of  kindness,  pity,  charity,  this  gift  I  worship,  this 
gift  I  always  envy — what  need  has  he  of  pleasure  or  of  the  fleeting  joys 
of  passion?  Dull  lethargy  will  never  claim  his  soul;  and  is  not  this 
release,  this  spirit-freeing  prick  and  stimulus,  the  greatest  charm  of 
passion? 

But,  tell  me,  if  I  am  to  wish  this  virtue  of  charity  upon  anyone, 
should  it  not  be  first  and  foremost  upon  you,  that  you  should  possess  it 
even  to  excess?  What  deep  reserves  of  charity  and  indulgence  must 
needs  be  hidden  within  your  soul,  if  you  are  to  read  this  endless,  dull, 
exhausting  apologia!  Ah,  now,  perhaps,  you  will  be  chary  ever  after 
wards  of  loading  me  with  silly  accusations!  If  my  extravagances  are 
intolerable,  they  are  at  least  less  so  than  my  justification;  but  remember 
that  I  was  provoked;  not  one  of  my  sweet,  kind  friends  but  is  for  ever 
heaping  coals  of  fire  upon  my  head;  and  so  I  desired  to  prove  to  them 
once  and  for  all  that  those  things  which  they  are  pleased  to  call  my 
extravagances,  my  disparities,  etc.,  are  nothing  else  but  reason,  sensi 
bility  and  passion.  Well,  what  is  the  outcome,  the  consequence  of  all 
this?  Shall  I  whisper  it  in  your  ear?  . . .  No,  no,  you  would  never  believe 
me,  and  yet  I  should  have  betrayed  the  secret  of  my  soul  Adieu; 
condemn  me,  criticize  me,  but  do  not  cease  to  love  me.  The  cup  of  my 
happiness  shall  be  filled  with  your  bounty,  and  I  shall  be  sensible  of 
nothing  else. 


APPENDICES 


T, 


APPENDIX  I 

Some  Notes  concerning  the  Life  and  Works 
of  Mozart^ 


HE  Italians  are  constantly  poking  fun  at  the  Germans;  they 
think  them  stupid,  and  never  tire  of  inventing  comic  anecdotes  about 
them.  I  was  forever  finding  that  I  had  insulted  the  patriotic  national 
ism  of  petty  politicians,  and  thus  that  I  had  made  myself  new 
enemies,  whenever  I  insisted  on  remarking,  "What  has  Italy  pro 
duced  in  all  the  XVHIth  century  that  can  compare  with  Mozart, 
Frederick  the  Great  or  Catherine?" 

Wolfgang  Mozart,  he  in  whom  the  bright  flame  of  genius  shone 
most  clearly  through  the  enshrouding,  dull  preoccupations  of  a 
prosaic  world,  was  born  in  Salzburg,  a  pretty  little  town  lying  among 
the  picturesque,  forest-clad  hills  which  form  the  Northern  slopes  of 
the  Italian  Alps.  He  was  a  child-prodigy,  and  by  the  time  he  was  six, 
he  was  already  touring  Europe  with  his  father,  who  soon  saw  that 
there  was  profit  to  be  got  from  his  son's  incredible  virtuosity  on  the 
piano. 

Mozart  lived  in  Munich,  where  he  married,  and  later  in  Vienna, 
where  he  was  always  grossly  underpaid  by  Joseph  II,  who  affected  to 
prefer  Italian  music. 

Mozart  has  left  us  nine  operas  with  Italian  libretti: 

La  Finta  semplice 
Mitridate  (Milan  1770) 
Lucio  Sitta  (Milan  1773) 

The  last  two  works,  as  far  as  I  know,  are  mediocre,  but  full  of 
academic  niceties  as  such  things  were  understood  in  the  year  1773. 
How  should  Mozart,  at  the  age  of  17,  have  found  the  courage  to 
break  with  fashionable  traditions?  No  step  could  have  been  better 
calculated  to  ensure  failure  in  the  opinion  of  those  worthy  critics 

1  This  note  was  inserted  in  the  (second)  1824  edition  of  the  Vie  de  Rossini, 
between  the  Preface  and  the  Introduction.  Readers  are  referred  to  the  Index  for 
the  correct  dates  of  Mozart's  life  and  works.  (Trans.) 


468  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

with  solid  academic  trainings,  who,  in  every  city  in  Europe,  form  the 
bulk,  and  the  noisiest  bulk,  of  any  audience.  It  is  precisely  because  of 
the  existence  of  an  overwhelming  majority  of  such  people  that  it  is  so 
urgently  to  be  wished  that  articles  in  the  press  which  deal  with  music 
should  show  some  traces  of  common-sense. 

La  Giardiniera 
Idomeneo 

Mozart  wrote  the  latter  opera  in  Munich  in  1 78 1 ,  at  a  time  when  he 
was  madly  in  love.  I  am  not  sufficiently  familiar  with  Idomeneo  to 
judge  whether  it  betrays  any  particular  hints  of  tenderness  or 
melancholy. 

Le  Nozze  di  Figaro  (1787) 
Don  Giovanni  (1787) 

In  1813,  when  I  was  in  Dresden,  I  once  met  Luigi  Bassi,  that 
wonderful  old  buffo,  for  whom,  twenty-six  years  earlier,  Mozart  had 
written  the  roles  of  Don  Giovanni,  and  of  Almaviva  in  le  Nozze  di 
Figaro.  If  I  were  to  tell  of  the  respectful  curiosity  with  which  I  tried 
to  induce  this  kindly  old  man  to  talk,  no  one  would  take  me  seriously. 
"Mr  Mozart,"  he  would  answer  (how  entrancing  to  hear  someone 
who  still  said  Mr  Mozart!)  "Mr  Mozart  was  an  extremely  eccentric 
and  absent-minded  young  man,  but  not  without  a  certain  spirit  of 
pride.  He  was  very  popular  with  the  ladies,  in  spite  of  his  small  size; 
but  he  had  a  most  unusual  face,  and  he  could  cast  a  spell  on  any 
woman  with  his  eyes ..."  On  this  subject,  Bassi  told  me  three  or  four 
little  anecdotes,  which,  however,  I  must  refrain  from  including  at 
this  point. 

Co  si  fan  tutte  (opera  buffo) 

The  tenor  aria,  la  mia  Doralice,  is  of  exquisite  gracefulness,  and  it 
strikes  a  new  note  of  tenderness,  infinitely  superior  to  the  finest  things 
in  Paesiello ;  but  the  most  wonderful  thing  is  the  finale,  with  its  gentle 
note  of  sighing  sensuality,  which  is  the  secret  of  Mozart's  style  in  all 
passages  where  he  is  not  overwhelmingly  powerful  or  dramatic. 
Mozart's  unique  position  in  the  world  of  art  is  due  precisely  to  his 
combination  of  these  two  dissimilar  qualities,  dramatic  power  and 
gentle  sensuality;  Michelangelo  is  never  anything  but  overwhelm- 


LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  MOZART  469 

ingly  powerful;  Correggio  is  never  anything  but  sweetly  voluptuous,1 
La  Clemenza  diTito  (1792) 

I  do  not  know  for  certain  whether  it  was  due  to  the  ostentatious 
preference  displayed  by  Joseph  II,  but  towards  the  end  of  his  career, 
Mozart  was  moving  quite  perceptibly  in  the  direction  of  Italian 
music.  The  distance  between  Don  Giovanni  and  la  Clemenza  di  Tito 
is  immense. 

Mozart  also  left  three  operas  with  German  libretti: 

Die  Entfiihrung  aus  dem  Serai!  (1782) 
Der  Schauspieldirektor 

and  the  masterpiece  entitled: 

Die  Zauberflote  (1792) 

The  libretto  of  die  Zauberflote  conforms  exactly  to  that  degree  of 
charming  extravagance  and  light,  amusing  fantasy  which  comes  so 
easily  to  any  French  writer  in  search  of  a  facile  popularity;  but,  as  we 
have  maintained  so  often,  this  type  of  writing  may  often  be  ideal  for 
the  requirements  of  music.  Music  holds  the  secret  of  transforming 
even  the  cheap  fancies  of  the  vulgarest  imagination  into  conceptions 
of  noble  grace  and  individual  genius. 

Mozart  also  left  an  almost  countless  number  of  songs,  fragments 
of  scenes,  symphonies,  etc.,  and  several  Masses,  of  which  the  most 
famous  is  the  Requiem  Mass,  which  he  composed  under  the  shadow 
of  the  knowledge  that  it  was  for  his  own  funeral — a  foreboding 
which  was  indeed  realized;  he  believed  that  the  Angel  of  Death,  dis 
guised  beneath  the  form  and  figure  of  an  old  man,  had  commanded 
him  to  compose  this  work. 

Mozart  surprised  the  secret  qualities  of  those  wind-instruments 
which  are  so  intimately  expressive  of  the  melancholy  sadness  of  the 
North.  A  short  passage  from  a  Mozart  symphony,  decked  out  with 
a  couple  of  pages  of  accessory  motifs  to  serve  as  an  introduction  and 
conclusion,  would  make  an  admirable  overture  to  any  modem  opera. 

1  The  finale  in  question  is  a  perfect  illustration  of  the  contention,  that  there  is  a 
certain  type  of  beauty  whose  very  essence  is  tranquillity — the  beauty  of  Dresden, 
for  instance,  on  a  fine  autumn  day.  This  finale  is  one  of  those  passages  in  which 
music  comes  closest  to  antique  sculpture,  seen  in  Rome  in  the  lonely  silence  of 
some  deserted  museum. 


470  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

Born  on  the  27th  of  January  1756,  Mozart  died  in  Vienna  on  the 
5th  of  December  1792,  aged  36.  If  he  had  lived  in  France,  he  would 
never  have  earned  the  least  degree  of  fame  or  reputation;  he  was 
too  simple. 

No  arspoetica  is  of  any  direct  value  to  the  artist,  who  can  only  be 
spoiled  by  the  reading  of  theories;  theories  are  destined  to  influence 
the  public.  For  instance,  if  the  French  public  were  well-versed  in  a 
decent  theory  of  sculpture,  it  would  never  tolerate  a  statue  of 
Louis  XIV  in  a  full-bottomed  wig  and  with  naked  legs ! 


APPENDIX  II 
List  of  Rossini's  Compositions1- 


STUDENT  WORKS 


Title 

Se  il  vuol  la  Molinara 
Duets  for  Horn 
Demetrio  e  Polibio 
Mass  for  Male  Voices 
II  Pianto  d*  Armenia  sulla 

Morte  d'Orfeo 
Two  Overtures 
Five  String  Quartets 
Quartet  for  Wind  Instruments 
Varia 


Date  of  Performance  or  Composition 


Rome,  18th  May  1812  (comp.  1806?) 
Ravenna,  1808 
Bologna,  August  1808 


La  Cambiale  di  Matrimonio 
UEquivoco  Stravagante 
L'Inganno  Felice 
Ciro  in  Babilonia 
La  Scala  di  Seta 
La  Pietra  del  Paragone 
UOccasionefa  ULadro 
II  Signor  Bruschino 
Tancredi 

Ultaliana  in  Algeri 
Aureliano  in  Palmira 
II  Turco  in  Italia 


OPERAS 

Venice,  3rd  November  1810 
Bologna,  29th  October  1811 
Venice,  8th  January  1812 
Ferrara,  Lent  1812 
Venice,  9th  May  1812 
Milan,  26th  September  1812 
Venice,  24th  November  1812 
Venice,  January  1813 
Venice,  6th  February  1813 
Venice,  22nd  May  1813 
Milan,  26th  December  1813 
Milan,  14th  August  1814 


1  This  list  is  taken  from  Francis  Toye,  Rossini,  A  Study  in  Tragl-Comedy 
(Heinemann,  1934),  pp.  259-262  (Trans.). 


472 


LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 


Sigismondo 
Elisabetta,  regina 

d'Inghilterra 
Torvaldo  e  Dorliska 
II  Barbiere  di  Siviglia 
La  Gazzetta 
Otello 

La  Cenerentola 
La  Gazza  Ladra 
Armida 

Adelaide  di  Borgogna 
Mose  in  Egitto 
Adina 

Ricciardo  e  Zoralde 
Ermione 

Eduardo  e  Cristina 
La  Donna  del  Lago 
Bianca  e  Faliero 
Maometto  II 
Matilde  di  Shabran 
Zelmira 
Semiramide 
II  Viaggio  a  Reims 
Le  Siege  de  Corinthe 
Mo'ise 

Le  Comte  Ory 
Guillaume  Tell 


Venice,  26th  December  1814 
Naples,  4th  October  1815 

Rome,  26th  December  1815 
Rome,  20th  February  1816 
Naples,  26th  September  1816 
Naples,  4th  December  1816 
Rome,  25th  January  1817 
Milan,  31st  May  1817 
Naples,  llth  November  1817 
Rome,  27th  December  1817 
Naples,  5th  March  1818 
Lisbon,  12th  June  1826  (comp.  1818) 
Naples,  3rd  December  1818 
Naples,  27th  March  1819 
Venice,  24th  April  1819 
Naples,  24th  September  1819 
Milan,  26th  December  1819 
Naples,  3rd  December  1820 
Rome,  24th  February  1821 
Naples,  16th  February  1822 
Venice,  3rd  February  1823 
Paris,  19th  June  1825 
Paris,  9th  October  1826 
Paris,  26th  March  1827 
Paris,  20th  August  1828 
Paris,  3rd  August  1829 


PASTICCIOS 


Ivanhoe 

Le  Testament 

Cinderella 

Robert  Bruce 

Andremo  a  Parigi 

Un  Curioso  Accidente 

La  Boutique  Fantasque  (ballet) 

Rossini  (operetta) 


Paris,  15th  September  1826 
Paris,  22nd  January  1827 
London,  13th  April  1830 
Paris,  30th  December  1846 
Paris,  26th  October  1848 
Paris,  27th  November  1859 
London,  5th  June  1919 
Rome,  18th  May  1922 


ROSSINI'S  COMPOSITIONS  473 

SACRED  MUSIC 

Messa  Solenne  Naples,  March  1820 

Stdbat  Mater  Paris,  7th  January  1842 

La  Foi,  VEsperance,  la  Paris,  20th  November  1844 

Charite 

Petite  Messe  Solennelle  Paris,  14th  March  1864 
Varia 

MISCELLANEOUS 

Egle  ed  Irene  (cantata)  Milan,  1814 

Inno  del*  Indipendenza  Bologna,  April  1815 

Le  Nozze  di  Teti  e  di  Peleo  Naples,  24th  April  1816 

(cantata) 

La  Morte  di  Didone  (cantata)  Venice,  2nd  May  1818  (comp.  1811) 

La  Riconoscenza  (cantata)  Naples,  27th  December  1821 

IlPianto  delle  Muse  in  Morte  London,  9th  June  1824 

di  Lord  Byron  (cantata) 

Soirees  Musicales  (songs  and  Paris,  1835 

duets) 

Le  Chant  des  Titans  Paris,  22nd  December  1861 

Hymne  a  Napoleon  III,  etc.  Paris,  1st  July  1867 

A  National  Hymn  Birmingham,  1867 

"Peches  de  Vieillesse"  (piano  Paris,  1857-68 

pieces,  songs,  etc.) 
Varia  (cantatas,  songs,  marches,  etc.) 

'  For  fuller  .details,  see  Giuseppe  Radiciotti,  Gioacchino  Rossini, 
Vita  (Tivoli  1928-9,  3  Vols.);  also  the  article  "Rossini"  in  Grove's 
Dictionary  of  Music  and  Musicians. 


BIBLIOGRAPHY 

I 

PREVIOUS  EDITIONS  OF  THE  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

—  Memoirs  of  Rossini.  By  the  Author  of  the  Lives  of  Haydn  and  Mozart. 

London.  Printed  for  T.  Hookham,  Old  Bond  Street,  by  J.  and  C.  Adlard, 
23  Bartholomew  Close.  1824.  In-8vo,  pp.  xlii+  287. 

—  Vie  de  Rossini,  par  M.  de  Stendhal;  oraee  des  Portraits  de  Rossini  et  de 

Mozart.  Laissez  alter  votrepensee  comme  cet  insecte  qu'on  Idche  en  I9 air  avec 
unftlalapatte.  Socrate,  Nuees  d'Aristophane.  Paris,  chez  Auguste  Boulland 
&  Cie.,  Libraire,  rue  du  Battoir  No.  12,  1824.  In-8vo,  pp.  viii  +  623. 

—  Vie  de  Rosini  (sic).  Pseudo-second  edition,  deliberately  put  out  by  Stendhal  in 

order  to  persuade  the  public  that  the  first  edition  had  been  exhausted  by  the 
vast  demand  of  the  readers.  1824. 

—  Rossini's  Leben  und  Treiben,  vornehmlich  nach  den  Nachrichten  des  Herrn  v. 

Stendhal  geschildert,  und  mit  Urteilen  der  Zeitgenossen  uber  seinen 
rnusikalischen  Charakter  begleitet,  von  Amadeus  Wendt.  Leipzig  1824, 
Verlag  von  Leopold  Voss.  In-12mo,  pp.  xvi  +  440. 

—  Vie  de  Rossini,  par  Stendhal  (Henry  Beyle)  ...  npuvelle  edition  ...  Paris, 

Michel  Levy  Freres,  Libraires  Editeurs,  rue  Vivienne  ...  1854.  In-8vo, 
pp.  375. 

—  Vie  de  Rossini,  par  Stendhal  (Henry  Beyle)  ...  nouvelle  edition  entierement 

revue  ...  Paris,  Michel  Le"vy  Freres,  Libraires  Editeurs,  rue  Vivienne  ... 
1864.In-8vo,pp.375. 

—  Vie  de  Rossini,  par  Stendhal  (Henry  Beyle)  ...  nouvelle  edition  ...  Paris, 

Caiman  L6vy  (Bibliotheque  Contemporaine).  In-8vo,  pp.  375.  (1876.) 
•—  Vie  de  Rossini,  par  Stendhal  (Henry  Beyle)  ...  nouvelle  edition  entierement 
revue  ...  Paris,  Caiman  L6vy  (Bibliotheque  Contemporaine),  pp.  375.  (1892.) 

—  Stendhal,  Vie  de  Rossini,  suivies  des  Notes  d'un  Dilettante;  texte  etabli  et 

annote  avec  preface  et  avant-propos  par  Henry  Prunieres.  Paris,  Librairie 
ancienne  Honore  Champion,  1922.  2  vols.,  in-8vo,  pp.  Ixiv  -f  380;  506. 
(Standard  critical  edition  in  the  series,  Oeuvres  Completes  de  Stendhal, 
under  the  direction  of  Paul  Arbelet  and  Edouard  Champion). 

—  Stendhal,  Vie  de  Rossini  ...  Edited  by  Henri  Martineau.  2  vols.,  Paris  (Le 

Divan),  1929.  Pp.  xxxvii  +  337;  341. 

II 

ROSSINIANA 

Astruc,  Zacharie.  "Lettre  a  Stendhal  sur  VOtello  de  Rossini",  in  Le  Quart 

d'Heure,  Gazette  des  gens  demi-serieux,  Paris  1859  (20th  April). 
Azevedo,  Alexis.  G.  Rossini,  sa  Vie  et  ses  Oeuvres.  1864. 
Barini,  G.  "Peril  Centenario  del  Mose",in  Nuova  Antologia.  1914. 
Sevan,  W.  A.  Rossini  (Bell's  Miniature  Series  of  Musicians).  1904. 
Bonavia,  F.  Rossini.  1941. 
Brighenti,  P.  Delia  Musica  rossiniana  e  del  suo  Autore.  1830. 


476  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

Cametti,  Alberto.  Un  Poeta  Melodrammatico  Romano:  Jacopo  Ferretti.  Milan 
1898. 

—  La  Musica  Teatrale  a  Roma  Cento  Anni  Fa  (collected  articles  from  the 

Annuario  della  Reale  Accademia  di  Santa  Cecilia,  mainly  published 
1915-17).  Rome  1926-32. 

Carpani,  Giuseppe.  Letter  a  di  G.  Carpani  alP  anonimo  aiitore  deW  articolo  sul 
Tancredi  di  Rossini  inserito  nella  Gazzetta  di  Berlino  No.  7, 1818.  (1818.) 

—  Letter  a  ...  sulla  musica  di  G.  Rossini.  1826. 

—  Le  Rossiniane,  ossiaLettere  musicoteatrali  di  G.  Carpani.  Padua  1824. 
Cowen,  Sir  Frederic  H.  Rossini  and  his  Music.  1912. 

D'Angeli.  Cronaca  Musicale  diPesaro,  anno  XX,  No.  7. 

Dauriac,  L.  A.  Rossini ...  biographie  critique.  1905. 

Derwent,  Lord.  Rossini  and  some  forgotten  Nightingales  (dedicated  "to  Henri 

Beyle,  italianissimo").  Duckworth  1934. 

Desnoyers,  L.  C.  T.  F.  De  V Opera  en  1847,  apropos  de  Robert  Bruce.  1847. 
Edwards,  Henry  S.  The  Life  of  Rossini.  1869. 

—  Rossini  and  his  School.  1881. 

Faller,  H.  Die  Gesangskoloratur  in  Rossinis  Opern  ...  1935. 

Fara,  Giulio.  Genio  e  ingegno  musicale:  Gioacchino  Rossini.  1915. 

Fraccaroli,  A.  Rossini ...  1944. 

Giorgi-Righetti,  Madame.  Cenni  di  una  Donna  gia  cantante  sopra  il  Maestro 

Rossini,  in  riposta  a  do  che  ne  scrisse  nella  state  delV  anno  1822  il  giornalista 

inglese  in  Parigi,  e  fu  riportato  in  una  Gazzetta  di  Milano  dello  stesso  anno. 

Bologna  1823. 

Guerrazzi,  F.  D.  Manzoni,  Verdi  eTAlbo  Rossiniano.  1874. 
Hirt,  Giulio.  "Di  alcuni  Autografi  di  G.  Rossini'*,  in  La  Rivista  Musicale  Italiana, 

voLII,fasc.  1,1895. 

Lqewenberg,  Alfred.  Paisiello's  und  Rossini's  Barbiere  di  Siviglia.  1939. 
Michotte,  E.  Souvenirs  personnels:  la  visite  de  Richard  Wagner  a  Rossini,  Paris 

1860.  (1906.) 

Montazio,  E.  V.  Gioacchino  Rossini.  1862. 
Parent  de  Curzon,  H.  Rossini.  1920. 
Pougin,  A.  Rossini,  notes  et  impressions.  1871. 
Radiciotti,  Giuseppe.  Gioacchino  Rossini,  Vita.  3  vols.  Tivoli  1928-9. 

—  "Primi  anni  e  studi  di  G.  Rossini",  in  Rivista  Musicale,  1917,  p.  145  et 

seq. 

—  "Un  opera  fantastique  de  Rossini"  (Armida),  in  La  Revue  Musicale,  Jan. 

1921. 

Ricci,  Corrado.  Rossini:  Le  sue  Case  e  le  sue  Donne.  Milan,  n.d. 
Roncaglia,  G.  Rossini  VOlimpico.  1953. 

Rossini,  Gioacchino.  Letter  e  ...  raccolte  e  annotate  per  cura  di  G.  Mazzatinti. 
Florence  1902. 

—  Letter  e  inedite  e  rare  ...  per  cura  di  G.  Mazzatinti  Imola  1892. 

—  Ausgewdhlte  Briefe,  mit  einer  biographischen  Skizze  von  Joseph  Marx. 

Berlin  1947. 

Rovani,  G.  La  Mente  di  G.  Rossini,  studio.  1868. 
Toye,  John  F.  Rossini,  A  Study  in  Tragi-Comedy.  1934. 
Vatielli,  Francesco.  Rossini  a  Bologna.  Bologna  1918. 


HI 

MISCELLANEOUS 

Burney,  Dr  Charles.  A  General  History  of  Music.  4  vols.  17764789. 

—  A  Musical  Tour  in  France  and  Italy.  London  1774. 
Cambiasi,  Pompeo.  Cimarosa.  Milan  1901. 


BIBLIOGRAPHY  477 

Castil-Blaze.  V Opera  Italien  de  1548  a  1856.  Paris  1856. 

—  Dictionnaire  de  la  Musique  Moderns.  2  vols.,  Paris  1821. 
Chilesotti,  Oscar.  /  nostri  Maestri  delPassato.  Paris  1882. 
Choron  et  Fayolle.  Le  Dictionnaire  des  Musidens.  2  vols.  Paris  1810-11. 
Chuquet,  Arthur.  Stendhal-Beyle.  Paris  1902. 
Ebers,  John.  Seven  Years  of  the  King's  Theatre.  London  1828. 
Fetis,  F.  J.  Biographie  Universelle  de  la  Musique.  10  vols.  Paris  1877-80. 
Foote,  Horace.  A  Companion  to  the  Theatres  and  Manual  of  the  British  Drama. 

London  1829. 

Grovels  Dictionary  of  Music  and  Musicians.  5th  Edition,  1954. 
Hiller,  Ferdinand.  Aus  dem  Tonleben  unsererZeit.  Leipzig  1868. 
Lavignac.  Encyclopedic  de  la  Musique. 
Morgan,  Lady.  Italy.  3  vols.,  London  1821. 
Mount  Edgcumbe,  Earl  of.  Musical  Reminiscences.  London  1834. 
Pruni6res,  H.  UOp&ra  Italien  en  France  avant  Lulli.  Paris  1913. 
Ritorni,  Carlo.  Commentarii  della  Vita  ...  di  Salvatore  Viganb.  1838. 
Soubies,  A.  Le  Theatre  Italien  de  1801  a  1913.  Paris  1913. 
Villarosa,  C.  A.  de.  Memorie  del  Compositori  di  Musica  del  Regno  di  Napoli. 

Naples  1840. 


478  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 


ABBREVIATIONS 

of  works  by  Stendhal  referred  to  in  the  Notes  and  Table  of  References. 

A.C.  Abbesse  de  Castro 

Corresp.  Correspondence  (ed.  Paupe) 

C.P.  Chartreuse  de  Parme 

De  VA  De  1*  Amour 

H.B.     •  Henri  Brulard 

H.P.L  Histoire  de  la  Peinture  en  Italic 

/.  d'L  Journal  d'ltalie 

N.D.  Notes  d'un  Dilettante 

P.R.  Promenades  dans  Rome 

R.etS.  Racine  et  Shakespeare 

R.N.  Le  Rouge  et  le  Noir 

R.N.F.  Rome,  Naples  et  Florence 

V.H.  Vies  de  Haydn,  de  Mozart  et  de  Metastase 

V.N.  Vie  de  Napoleon 

V.R.  Vie  de  Rossini 


NOTES 

Title-page  But  let  your  thoughts. ...  Rogers'  translation,  lines  762-3. 

xv  Table  of  Contents.  This  supremely  irrelevant  catalogue  of  minor 
details  is  Stendhal's  own  work. 

1  ...  Paris  to  Calcutta. ...  Cf.  Carpani,  Bibl  Italiana,  June  1822,  vol.  26, 

p.  287;  Rossiniane,  p.  145;  Cf.  also  V.H.,  p.  11. 

2  inaccuracies.  ...  Perhaps  a  hundred  would  be  nearer  the  mark.  For  a 

factually  accurate  account  of  Rossini's  life,  the  reader  is  referred  to 
G.  Radiciotti's  Gioacchino  Rossini,  Vita  3  vols.,  Tivoli,  1928-9. 

2    lottery  of  Nature.  ...  Cf.  Life  of  Rossini,  p.  95. 

2  ...  in  English.  This  English  edition  did  in  fact  appear:  Memoirs  of 
Rossini,  by  the  Author  of  the  Lives  of  Haydn  and  Mozart,  London 
(Hookham)  January  1824.  However,  it  contains  only  about  half 
the  material  which  was  finally  included  in  the  Vie  de  Rossini. 

2  Place  Beauvau.  Stendhal  probably  intends  to  refer  to  the  school 
established  by  Massimino.  However,  in  1823,  this  was  in  the  rue 
Montmartre. 

2  Montmorency.  ...  The  date  given  here  is  probably  accurate.  Cf. 

Martineau,  Itineraire  de  Stendhal,  p.  74. 

3  barbarous  treatment.  ...  Cimarosa  had  been  an  active  partisan  of 

revolutionary  ideas ;  when  the  French  were  expelled  from  Naples,  he 
was  imprisoned  and  condemned  to  death;  but  King  Ferdinand 
commuted  his  sentence  to  exile.  The  composer  died  on  his  way 
abroad,  in  Venice,  on  1 1th  Jan.  1801.  He  was  believed  to  have  been 
poisoned  by  orders  of  the  King. 

6    ...  improvisations.  Cf.  R.N.F.,  I,  304. 

6  ...  impetuous  temperament.  Stendhal  himself  attempted  to  study  the 
violin,  but  gave  up  after  a  few  months.  Cf.  H.B. 


NOTES  479 

Page 

8  scurrility  and  baseness.  Cf.  Novati,  Stendhal  e  VAnima  Italiana.  If 

Stendhal's  accusations  are  true  of  the  political  press,  they  are 
exaggerated  in  respect  of  contemporary  musical  criticism,  which 
was  inane  rather  than  violent.  Stendhal  himself  was  always  courte 
ously  treated  by  the  Italian  press. 

9  Beatrice  d'Este.  Cf.  Stendhal,  Corresp.,  II,  p.  72. 
9    Tancredi.  Cf.  Life  of  Rossini,  p.  62. 

9  Bridge  of  Ar cola.  See  Index,  under  heading  Bonaparte. 

10  ...  memory.  Cf.  Corresp.,  ed.  Paupe,  vol.  II,  pp.  129-30. 

12  cannot  be  recaptured.  Cf.  Corresp.,  ed.  Paupe,  vol.  II,  p.  130. 

12  ...  of  his  younger  days.  V.  J.-J.  Rousseau,  Confessions. 

14  galvanism.  For  an  analysis  of  the  philosophy  of  "galvanism*',  see 

A.  Wolf,  A  History  of  Science,  Technology  and  Philosophy  in  the 
XVHIth  century;  London,  1938,  pp.  256-60. 

15  ...  already  preoccupied.  Cf.  Stendhal,  ,R. N. F.9  vol.  I,  p.  81;  De  VA., 

chapter  xvi. 

15     . . .  in  the  listener.  Cf.  Stendhal,  R.N.F. ,  vol. I,  p.  1 1 ;  H.PJ. ,  cxxx,  note  2. 

17  harmony.  ...  Cf.  Stendhal,  R.N.F.,  vol.  I,  p.  15.  "Harmony",  in 
Stendhal's  use  of  the  term,  means  everything  in  an  opera  which  is 
not  vocal  melody. 

17  ...  complex  and  erudite  music.  Harmonic  audacity  had  been  a  charac 
teristic  of  Italian  music  at  the  beginning  of  the  XVIIIth  century. 
But  in  the  second  half  of  the  century  there  had  been  a  movement 
towards  harmonic  ingenuousness  and  * 'simplicity".  The  reaction  to 
this  comes  after  1800,  when  the  "new"  symphonic  music  of  Mozart 
and  Haydn  begins  to  influence  operatic  composers. 

2 1  Sei  morelli  e  quatro  baj ....  Stendhal  quotes  inaccurately  from  memory 
in  the  original  edition. 

21  Mentr'  io  ero  un  mascalzone.  ...  Likewise  inaccurately  quoted  in  the 
original  edition.  Cf.  Stendhal,  V.H.,  p.  352. 

21     ...  grouped  behind  him.  Cf.  Stendhal,  V.H. ,  p.  34. 

21     the  sextet  from  Elena.  Cf.  Stendhal,  R.N.F.,  vol.  I,  p.  24. 

23  ...  Macbeth.  Stendhal,  as  one  of  the  fieriest  partisans  of  the  Romantic, 
as  opposed  to  the  Classical  theatre,  was  an  eager  enthusiast  of 
Shakespeare.  Cf.  R.  et  S.,  passim. 

23  ...flair  for  composition.  Cf.  Stendhal,  /.  d9!.,  p.  241;  Lettres  sur 
Metastase  (V.H.,  pp.  387-8);  Corresp.,  ed.  Paupe,  voL  II,  pp.  101 
and  105;  N.D.,  passim* 

25  Bassi.  Cf.  Stendhal,  Lettres  sur  Metastase  (V.H.,  p.  384).  See  also 
Index,  under  Bassi,  Luigi. 

25    Partiam  per  carita.  Incorrectly  quoted  in  the  original  edition. 

28  1796. ...  Cf.  Index,  article  Mozart. 

29  romances  of  Monsieur  R.  ...  Cf.  Stendhal,  H.B.,  vol.  II,  p.  105;  V.H., 

p.  206. 

30  Backstairs  patriotism.   ...  In  the  original,  "le  patriotisme  d'anti- 

chambre" — a  favourite  phrase  of  Stendhal's.  Cf.  also  Life  of 
Rossini,  p.  296. 

34  it  is  a  frenzy.  ...  Cf.  Stendhal,  De  FA.9  ed.  1882,  vol.  I,  xxiv,  p.  47 
et  seq.',  vol.  II,  xl.  p.  123;  xliii,  p.  131;  xliv,  p.  134  et  seq.',  xlix, 
p.  152  et  seq.  Cf.  also  R.N.F.  vol.  I,  p.  15. 

36  Such  people This  paragraph  describes  Stendhal's  own  fundamental 

attitude  to  Rossini. 

37  L£  mi  dirai  di  si. . . .  Duet  from  Act  I  of  Don  Giovanni.  Stendhal  quotes 

inaccurately  in  the  original  edition. 

37  ...  telescoping  phrases.  ...  In  the  original,  Stendhal  uses  the  verb 
syncoper,  whose  correct  meaning  he  appears  to  have  misunderstood. 


480  -LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

Page 

45  ...  until  1807.  Rossini's  voice  broke  at  the  end  of  1806.  The  last 

concert  at  which  he  sang  soprano  was  on  the  8th  August  1806. 

46  Liceo  Musicale.  Rossini's  history  at  the  Liceo  Musicale  is  as  follows: 

he  began  ,to  study  the  'cello  in  the  spring  of  1806;  on  the  20th  May, 
1807,  he  began  to  study  counterpoint  under  Father  Mattei;  in 
November  1808,  he  joined  the  pianoforte  class  under  Zanotti,  and 
gave  up  the  'cello.  In  1809,  he  attended  only  the  counterpoint 
classes,  and  that  irregularly.  V.  Radiciotti,  "Primi  anni  e  stucli  di 
G.  Rossini"  (Rivista  Musicale,  1917,  pp.  145  et  seq.);  F.  Vatielli, 
Rossini  a  Bologna  (1918). 

46  II  Pianto  d'Armonia.  Stendhal's  date  is  correct;  but  this  is  far  from 
being  Rossini's  first  work.  The  basic  material  of  Demetrio  e 
Polibio  was  already  written,  besides  5  quartets  and  other  music. 
V.  Radiciotti,  op.  cit. 

46  Accademia  del  Concordi.  Rossini  was  not  elected  "director",  but  for  a 
short  while  filled  the  post  of  accompanist  (1810). 

46  Marchesi.  The  director  of  the  Accademia  del  Concordi  was  not  the 
famous  Luigi  Marchesi,  as  Stendhal  believes,  but  his  brother,  the 
composer  Tommaso  Marchesi. 

46  The  Perticari  family.  Signora  Perticari  was  the  daughter  of  the  poet 

Monti,  and  Stendhal  knew  her  in  Pesaro  in  1817.  But  there  is  con 
siderable  doubt  as  to  whether  Rossini  knew  the  family  before  1818, 
when  they  invited  him  to  conduct  his  own  Gazza  ladra  on  the 
occasion  of  the  opening  of  the  new  theatre. 

47  La  Scala  di  Seta.  Rossini's  Scala  di  Seta  was  performed  in  the  spring 

of  1812,  at  the  San-Mose,  Venice.  Stendhal  is  confusing  it  with 
HFigliaper  Azzardo,  an  opera  with  a  bad  libretto  by  Foppa,  which 
was  given  at  the  Carnival  of  1813.  The  story  is  not  fully  authenti 
cated. 

47  ...  and  whistled.  ...  In  Italy,  as  in  most  countries  on  the  Continent  of 
Europe,  the  audience  whistles  to  express  its  ^pleasure. 

56  mi  rivedrai,  ti  rivedr6.  This  aria  was  probably  the  first  piece  of 

Rossini's  music  that  Stendhal  ever  heard.  Cf.  V.H.,  p.  399. 

57  the  flute  ...  Stendhal  seems  to  have  confused  the  flute  with  the  clari 

net.  In  the  passage  referred  to,  the  major  solo  passages  are  for 
clarinet  and  oboe. 

63     ...  ma  guarda  e  passa.  Dante,  Divina  Commedia,  Inferno,  Canto  III,  /.  5 1 . 

65    Testa  di  Bronzo.  Cf.  Stendhal,  R. N.F.,  vol.  I,  pp.  1 1-21 . 

68  ...  very  clever  persons.  Stendhal's  complaints  are  fully  justified.  The 
anti-Rossinian  clique,  inspired  by  Pae'r,  contrived  to  make  certain 
that  the  original  Paris  production  of  Vltaliana  should  be  a  total 
failure.  V.  Journal  des  Debats,  3  Feb.  1817;  Gazette  de  France;  also 
Azevedo,  G.  Rossini,  sa  Vie  et  ses  Oeuvres  (1864),  ch.  xxi,  and 
Stendhal's  Notes  d'un  Dilettante. 

68    H  mio  sposo.  ...  Misquoted  by  Stendhal  in  the  original  edition. 

77  Di  portargli  il  candeliere.  Likewise  misquoted  by  Stendhal  in  the 
original  edition. 

84  La  Pietra  del  Paragone.  Stendhal  does  not  pursue  his  analysis  in 

chronological  order.  La  Pietra  del  Paragone  (26th  Dec.  1812)  in  fact 
preceded  both  Tancredi  (6th  Feb.  1813)  and  Vltaliana  in  Algeri 
(22nd  May  1813). 

85  ...  Mississipi.  Referred  to  by  Stendhal  (and  by  some  later  writers  who 

quote  him  blindly)  as  "1'air  du  Missipipi". 

85  ...  once  and  for  ever.  La  Pietra  was  given  in  Paris  in  April  1821,  and 
was  again  sabotaged  by  the  Pae'r  clique.  V.  Stendhal,  Corresp., 
vol.  I,  pp.  231,235. 


NOTES  481 

Page 

89  ...to  play  the  echo.  "Echo-scenes"  were  one  of  the  favourite  devices 
in  French  and  Italian  opera  of  the  XVIIth  and  early  XVHIth 
centuries.  The  same  device  was  exploited  in  England  by  the  Eliza 
bethan  school  of  dramatists;  cf.  the  famous  "echo-scene"  in 
Webster's  Duchess  ofMalfi. 

91  ...  country-house  at  £***.  Probably  Bologna.  Cf.  Madame  Giorgi- 

Righetti,  Cenni ...,  p.  19. 

92  ...  the  Coalition  of  Kings.  ...  In  the  original,  Stendhal  writes:  s<et  le 

d...  u  ...  s'avancait  a  grands  pas".  Henry  Prunieres  suggests  the 
readings  "Despotisme"  or  "Droit  Divin".  Neither  is  entirely 
satisfactory. 

94  Giuseppe  Mosca.  Mosca  had  employed  the  technique  of  the  crescendo 

in  a  popular  opera  entitled  I  Pretendenti  delusi  (Milan  1811),  and 
therefore  Rossini  was  accused  of  haying  "stolen"  the  idea  from  him. 
Other  critics  accused  him  of  having  stolen  it  from  Generali  or 
Anfossi.  In  fact,  the  crescendo,  used  in  this  manner,  was  a  sym 
phonic  device  which  became  fairly  common  in  opera  from  the  end 
of  the  XVIIIth  century. 

95  ...  uninhibited  superscription.  There  is  probably  no  truth  in  this  anec 

dote.  V.  Madame  Giorgi-Righetti,  Cenni ...,  pp.  19-20. 
95     ...  the  lottery  of  native  genius.  Cf.  Preface^  p.  2. 

95  Prince  Eugene.  Prince  Eugene  was  in  Moscow  at  the  time  when,  if  this 

part  of  the  anecdote  is  correct,  he  should  have  been  in  Pesaro. 

96  ...  military  service.  ...  Rossini  later  described  his  exemption  from 

service  as  "a  clear  gain  to  Napoleon's  army".  V.  Toye,  Rossini,  a 
Study  in  Tragi-Comedy,  p.  36. 

96  ...  the  laws  of  composition.  It  is  extremely  common  at  the  time  to  find 
Rossini  accused  of  "violating  the  rules  of  composition".  However, 
Stendhal  was  not  his  only  apologist:  cf.  Carpani  (Rossiniane, 
p.  158);  Giorgi-Righetti  (Cenni ...,  p.  26). 

104     . . .  a  thousand  francs  for  each  work.  V.  Translator's  Foreword,  p.  xiv. 

114  ...to  call  a  genius.  This  anecdote  had  already  been  retailed  by 
Stendhal  in  his  article  in  the  Paris  Monthly  Review.  It  is  not  denied 
by  Madame  Giorgi-Righetti,  and  in  fact  would  seem  to  accord 
perfectly  with  Rossini's  character  at  that  date. 

116    Demophon.  Cf.  Stendhal,  V.H.,  p.  135,  note  L 

116    Se  cerca,  se  dice.  Cf.  Stendhal,  V.H.,  p.  333  et  seq. 

119  ...  the  list.  . . .  The  reader  is  referred  to  the  Index  for  the  correct  dates 
of  the  various  composers  here  referred  to,  as  also  for  those  in  the 
Note  which  follows.  Stendhal  probably  copied  down  his  informa 
tion  wholesale  from  some  as  yet  unidentified  musical  dictionary. 

121  ...  on  the  same  day.  ...  The  first  performance  of  Der  Freischutz  took 
place  in  Berlin  on  the  18th  June  1821 ;  that  ofZelmira  in  Naples  on 
the  26th  December  1 821 .  Zelmira  was  not  acclaimed  in  Vienna  until 
June  1822. 

121     ...  harmonic  chiaroscuro.  ...  Cf.  Stendhal,  V.ff.,  p.  80. 

125  This  musical  physicist.  ...  Stendhal  is  here  expounding  one  of  his 
favourite  theories.  Cf.  V.H.,  p.  48,  note  1. 

125  ...  a  scientific  theory  of  music.  ...  Cf.  Stendhal,  De  PA.,  chapter 
cxxxi. 

127  ...  a  factual  history.  The  phrase  is  a  reminiscence  of  Voltaire:  "Tant 
de  raisonneurs  ai'ant  fait  le  roman  de  Tame,  un  sage  (Locke)  est 
venu  qui  en  a  fait  modestement  Phistoire"  (Lettres  Philosophiques, 
"13e  lettre  sur  Mr  Loke"). 

131  ...  without  further  ado.  This  overture  was  to  serve  yet  a  third  time  for 
the  Barber  of  Seville. 


482  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

Page 

132  Demetrio  e  Polibio.  In  June,  1814,  Stendhal  was  not  in  Brescia,  but  in 
Paris.  Demetrio  was  first  performed  by  the  Mombelli  company  in 
Rome  (Valle  theatre)  on  the  18th  May  1812. 

132  Contessina  £***.  Probably  the  Contessina  Lechi,  of  Brescia.  Cf. 
Stendhal,  V.N.  (ed.  1876),  pp.  140  et  seq.\  R.N.F.,  vol.  1,  p.  79. 
Also  Wyzewa  and  de  Saint-Foix,  Mozart,  vol.  1,  p.  469. 

132  ...  in  1812.  Demetrio  was  composed  largely  in  1807.  The  libretto  was 
by  Mombelli's  wife,  Vincenzina  Vigand,  the  sister  of  the  choreo 
grapher.  Mombelli  himself  did  the  recitatives  and  a  small  number  of 
the  arias. 

135  . . .  the  opera  Demetrio  e  Polibio. ...  Cf.  Stendhal,  R.N.F. ;  also  /.  <f /., 

p.  309;  Corresp.,  vol.  H,  pp.  148-50,  152,  222,  228,  318,  381. 

136  Le  Journal  des  Debats.  The  article  referred  to  is  entitled  Quatrieme 

Lettre  d'un  Parisien  sur  Vltcdie  (signed:  "£>";  10th  June  1823), 

136  ...  philosophy  or  sensibility.  This  note  forms  part  of  the  text  in 

Stendhal's  original. 

137  ...the  duet. . .  .The  duet  referred  to  precedes  the  quartet  in  Rossini's  score. 
139    ...for  some  years.  In  actual  fact,  only  some  15  months  separated 

il  Turco  from  ritaliana. 

147  . . .  to  the  young  composer.  See  Translator's  Foreword  for  a  note  on  the 

value  of  contemporary  currencies.  Cf.  also  Stendhal,  Corresp., 
vol.  2,  p.  164;  Azevedo,  G.  Rossini,  sa  Vie  et  ses  Oeuvres. 

148  ...found  himself  saddled.  Cf.  the  account  of  this  period  of  Rossini's 

career  in  G.  Radiciotti,  Gioacchino  Rossini,  Vita. 

148  ...  to  marry  his  mistress.  Rossini's  marriage  to  Isabella  Colbran  took 
place  on  16th  March  1822,  at  Castenaso,  near  Bologna.  La  Colbran 
had,  however,  been  Rossini's  mistress  for  some  time  before  this 
event.  Cf.  Stendhal,  Corresp.,  vol.  2,  pp.  164,  195. 

148  The  Royal  Personage. ...  King  Ferdinand.  See  Index. 

149  ...  he  really  was  a  King.  Cf.  Stendhal,  R.N.F.,  vol.  1,  pp.  399-400. 

149  Signora  Rossini.  Isabella  Colbran  brought  a  dowry  of  20,000  livres  a 

year  and  a  villa  in  Sicily.  The  marriage  was  not  successful,  and 
ended  in  an  official  separation  in  1837.  Isabella  Colbran  died  at 
Bologna  in  1845,  at  the  age  of  60. 

150  ...  singing  off  key.  Stendhal's  prejudice  against  Isabella  Colbran 

makes  him  grossly  unjust  towards  her  talents.  There  is  no  evidence 
that  her  voice  had  suffered  any  serious  deterioration  in  1816;  in 
fact,  she  sang  with  the  greatest  success  until  1821.  Cf.  Carpani, 
Rossiniane,  p.  158;  Radiciotti,  Gioacchino  Rossini,  Vita. 

1 50  ...  the  principle  of  despotic  government.  A  reference  to  the  theory  of  the 
"principles  of  government"  in  Montesquieu's  Esprit  des  Lois  (1748). 
..  a  French  melodrama. ...  The  libretto  is  in  fact  an  adaptation  by  the 
resident  librettist  of  the  San-Carlo,  Giovanni  Schmidt  (=  "the 
Tuscan-born  Mr  Smith")  of  an  Italian  drama  by  Federici,  which  is 
in  its  turn  based  on  the  English  novel  by  Sophia  Lee,  The  Recess,  or 
A  Tale  of  Other  Times  (1785). 

1 54  Qual  colpo  inaspettato Stendhal  quotes  inaccurately  in  the  original 

edition. 

158  ...  of  its  noble  subject.  The  title  of  the  poem,  The  Fifth  of  May,  refers 
to  the  day  of  Napoleon's  death.  Stendhal  appears  to  have  quoted 
from  memory  in  the  original  version. 

161  ...  rational  criticism.  Stendhal  seems  to  have  approved  of  the  analysis 
given  in  this  chapter.  In  a  MS.  note  in  a  copy  of  the  Vie  de  Rossini 
belonging  to  Count  Primoli,  he  comments:  "Lu  par  hasard  dopo 
tanti  ami  209,  210,  21 L  I  found  very  well,  vif,  clair,  <§nergique,  full 
of  fire.  2  decembre  1839.  Civ.  Veca." 


152 


NOTES  483 

Page 

1 63  ...  Archbishop  ofT***.  Read,  probably,  Trento.  Cf.  Stendhal,  Corresp., 
vol.  H,  p.  67. 

1 67  ...  sparkling  with  life.  If  Stendhal  exaggerates  and  over-simplifies  the 

problem  of  Rossini's  "Teutonism",  there  is  nevertheless  a  great 
element  of  truth  in  his  judgment.  Rossini  was  always  highly 
susceptible  to  foreign  influences  (cf.  the  French  influences  in 
Guillaume  Tell) ;  and  in  fact  he  was  known  at  the  Liceo  Musicale  as 
il  Tedeschino,  and  learnt  harmony  by  scoring  Haydn's  quartets. 

1 68  ...  declamatory  style —  According  to  Professor  Radiciotti,  there  is  no 

truth  in  this  assertion. 

169  ...  adds  nothing  whatsoever  to  that  of  Rossini.  Cf.  Stendhal,  Corresp. 

(Mareste,  3  Sept.,  1818);  also  A.  Cametti,  "La  Musica  Teatrale  a 
Roma  cento  anni  fa",  in  the  Annuario  della  R.  Ace.  di  Sta.  Cecilia, 
1915-16. 

171  H  Barbiere  di  Siviglia.  There  are  perhaps  more  inaccuracies  in  this 
chapter  than  in  any  other  in  the  book.  In  other  works,  Stendhal  in 
part  corrected  his  own  errors.  Cf.  P.R.,  (4th  Dec.  1828);  R.N.F., 
voj.  I,  pp.  331-333;  Corresp.,  vol.  2,  p.  187.  Cf.  also  Stendhal's 
earlier  version  of  the  same  material  in  his  article  in  the  Paris 
Monthly  Review,  and  Madame  Giorgi-Righetti's  reply,  Cennidiuna 
donna  gia  cantante  sopra  il  maestro  Rossini.  ...  (Bologna  1823), 
Accurate  accounts  of  the  origins  and  early  performances  of  the 
Barber  will  be  found  in  Radiciotti,  op.  tit.,  and  in  Lord  Derwent's 
Rossini  and  some  forgotten  Nightingales  (Duckworth  1934). 

171  ...  a  catastrophic  flop.  Most  of  this  anecdote  is  legendary.  Count 
Sforza  asked  Jacopo  Ferretti  to  write  a  comic  libretto,  but  Rossini 
turned  it  down.  Then  Rossini  approached  Sterbini,  who  had  done 
the  libretto  of  Torvaldo,  and  asked  him  to  make  an  adaptation  of 
Beaumarchais'  Barbier  de  Seville.  Sterbini  accepted  with  bad  grace, 
but  completed  the  text  in  eleven  days.  Thus  Rossini's  libretto  is  a 
new  libretto,  and  not  the  same  as  that  which,  was  used  by 
Paisiello. 

171  In  thirteen  days.  ...  The  contract  between  Sterbini  and  the  impresario 

is  dated  17th  January  1816.  On  the  6th  February,  Rossini  handed  in 
the  first  act,  and  on  the  20th  February  the  first  performance  was 
given.  On  the  other  hand,  Signor  Cametti  has  demonstrated  that  a 
number  of  items  (not  counting  the  famous  overture)  are  borrowed 
from  earlier  works. 

172  ...  French  music.  Cf.  Stendhal,  Corresp.,  vol.  2,  p.  203.  In  the  long  run, 

Stendhal's  judgment  has  proved  correct,  in  so  far  as  the  Barber  is  an 
established  favourite  in  the  French  repertoire.  But  the  success  was 
not  immediate,  and  a  number  of  contemporary  critics  were  de 
cidedly  hostile:  e.g.,  a  pamphlet  signed  "Papillon",  entitled  Lettre 
critique  sur  Rossini,  Paris  (Mondor)  1823.  It  is  too  often  forgotten 
by  opera  enthusiasts  that  both  Beaumarchais*  best-known  works, 
the  Barbier  de  Seville  and  the  Mariage  de  Figaro,  are  major  dramatic 
masterpieces  in  their  own  right',  and  therefore,  in  France  especially, 
the  operas  based  upon  them  had  to  overcome  a  great  deal^of  the 
type  of  prejudice  which  invariably  attends  a  "new  version"  of  an 
established  popular  favourite. 

172  Madame  Giorgi.  I.e.,  Madame  Giorgi  Righetti,  sometimes  referred  to 
as  Righetti-Giorgi.  Cf.  Stendhal,  R.N.F.,  vol.  1,  p.  332.  See  also 
Index  and  Bibliography.  Her  comments  concerning  Stendhal's 
original  article  on  Rossini,  which  include  valuable  information 
concerning  the  Barber,  are  reproduced  in  the  Vie  de  Rossini,  ed. 
Prunieres,  vol.  2,  pp.  433-474. 


484  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

Page 

172  ...the  26th  of  December  1816.  The  premiere  of  the  Barber  took  place 

on  the  20th  of  February  1816.  Cf.  A.  Cametti,  "La  Musica  Teatrale 
a  Roma  cento  anni  fa". 

173  Piano,  Pianissimo.  ...  Stendhal  quotes  the  wrong  number, Zitti,  zitti, 

piano,  piano,  which  also  occurs  in  the  second  act. 

174  ...  an  ancient.  ...  The  "Quarrel  of  the  Ancients  and  the  Moderns" 

became  a  significant  literary  phenomenon  at  the  end  of  the  XVIIth 
century;  but  many  of  its  characteristic  features  come  into 
prominence  again  in  the  battle  between  the  classics  and  the 
romantics. 

178  ...  platitudinous  and  empty.  The  guitar  accompaniment  to  this  aria  was 

probably  composed  by  Garcia.  The  opening  bars  seem  to  have  been 
borrowed  from  a  chorus  in  Aureliano. 

179  ...  a  bit  of  fourth-rate  Gluck.  Stendhal's  critical  instinct  has  not  mis 

lead  him.  French  opera  in  the  tradition  of  Gluck  and  Lulli  is  based, 
not  on  the  spoken  language,  but  on  the  declamatory  style  of  French 
classical  tragedy. 

180  II  tutor  si  fidera.  Incorrectly  quoted  by  Stendhal  in  the  original 

edition. 

185    II  maestro  faccio  a  lei.  Incorrectly  quoted  by  Stendhal  in  the  original 
edition. 

185  ...  pox. ...  In  the  original:  les  v 

186  ...  would  have  cut  short.  ...  In  the  original:  que  Rossini  eut  syncope'es. 

See  above,  note  to  p.  37. 

186  ...  marionnette-theatres.  Cf.  Stendhal,  R.N.F.,  vol.  2,  pp.  321,  329, 

etc. 

187  Popes  Pius  VI  and  Pius  VII.  In  the  original:  de  P.  VI  et  P***.  Cf. 

Stendhal,  jR.  etS.9  p.  76;  also  V.N. 

188  ...  may  have  some  influence.  ...  A  typically  Stendhalian  notion  of 

relating  art  to  material  circumstances.  The  idea  was  later  worked 
out  in  detail  by  Taine. 
195    ...  hurry  and  bustle.  Cf.  Stendhal,  R.N.F.,  vol.  1,  p.  332. 

197  . . .  a  good  tum-ti-tum  rhythm.  Original  text :  ...  les  refrains  vulgaires  et 

sautillants  d'un  pont-neuf. 

198  ...the  old  King's  daughters.  Louis  XV  had  four  daughters,  all  musical 

and  all  ugly:  Adelaide,  Victoire,  Sophie  and  Louise.  Beaumarchais 
taught  them  to  play  the  harp. 

198  ...  a  gang  of  common  malefactors.  A  reference  to  a  contemporary 

political  scandal,  when  a  liberal  journalist,  Jean-Denis  Magalon 
was  condemned  to  13  months'  imprisonment  for  an  article  hostile 
to  the  Jesuits  and  the  Congregation.  On  the  22nd  April  1823, 
he  was  transferred  from  the  prison  of  Ste  Pelagie  to  that 
of  Poissy  chained  in  a  gang  of  common  malefactors.  Chateau 
briand  intervened  in  the  scandal  on  behalf  of  the  unfortunate 
victim. 

199  ...  the  Prevot  des  Marchands.  A  high  dignitary  of  the  City  of  Paris, 

whose  office  corresponded  in  some  respects  to  that  of  our  own  Lord 

Mayor. 
204    ...  and  there  will  be  ballets.  ...  This  was  the  Italian  fashion,  and 

Stendhal  constantly  returns  to  the  idea.  Carpani,  however,  thought 

it  was  scandalous :  cf.  Rossiniane,  p.  1 1 1. 
206    Otello.  Stendhal  claims  to  have  seen  Otello  for  the  first  time  as  early 

as  1817.  However,  all  his  early  judgments  on  the  opera  are  distinctly 

unfavourable.  (Cf.  R.N.F.,  vol.  2,  pp.  401-2;  Corresp.,  vol.  2, 

pp.  130,  380).  His  opinion  only  changes  later  in  Paris,  when  he  has 

seen  Judith  Pasta  in  the  part  of  Desdemona. 


NOTES  485 

Page 

206  The  theme  of  serious  love.  ...  This  analysis  is  full  of  contradictions 

between  Stendhal's  earlier  and  unfavourable  attitude  towards  the 
opera,  and  his  later  reconciliation.  Cf.  Zacharie  Astruc,  "Lettre  a 
Stendhal  sur  VOtello  de  Rossini"  (Le  Quart  d'Heure,  Gazette  des 
Gens  demi-serieux,  vol.  I,  no.  5,  Paris,  20th  April  1859). 

207  ...  literary  hack.  The  Marquis  Berio  di  Salsa,  who  was  a  personal 

friend  of  Stendhal  (see  Index).  Stendhal,  however,  was  not  prepared 
to  forgive  a  man  his  literary  sins  on  any  account  of  mere  friendship. 

210  Vedrd,  mentr'  io  sospiro.  Le  Nozze  di  Figaro,  Act  II,  scene  i,  sung  by 

Almaviva. 

211  ...  a  barbarian  like  Shakespeare.  The  "barbarity"  of  Shakespearian 

drama  was  one  of  the  commonplaces  of  XVHIth  century  criticism. 

Voltaire  himself  uses  the  term. 
213    Demetrio  e  Polibio  (1809).  Actually  composed  in  1807,  performed  in 

1812. 
215    The  solo  clarinet  passage. . . .  The  clarinet  has  a  melodic  phrase  towards 

the  middle  of  the  overture,  which  repeats  shortly  afterwards.  It  is  to 

be  observed  that  Stendhal  did  not  include  the  overture  in  his  earlier, 

unfavourable  verdict  on  Otello. 

217  ...  revolt  against  the  complex.  To  some  extent,  this  prophecy  of 

Stendhal's  may  be  said  to  have  been  fulfilled  by  Bellini. 

218  Vigano.  In  general,  the  objects  of  Stendhal's  admiration  have  shown 

themselves  worthy  of  his  faith  in  them,  and  their  works  have  stood 
the  passage  of  time.  If  Vigan6  seems  to  offer  an  exception  to  this 
rule,  that  is  perhaps  due  more  to  the  ephemeral  nature  of  his  art 
than  to  any  intrinsic  weakness  in  his  own  technique  or  character. 
The  reader  is  referred  to  the  Index,  to  an  article  by  H.  Prunieres  in 
the  Revue  Musicale  (1st  Dec.,  1921),  and  to  the  biography  by  Carlo 
Ritorni,  Commentario  della  Vita  e  delle  Opere  coreodrammatiche  di 
Salvatore  Vigano  (Milan,  1838). 

Since  it  is  almost  impossible  to  obtain  details  of  the  works  of 
Vigan6  in  any  current  work  of  reference,  the  following  list  may  be 
of  some  value  (rather  than  give  dates  of  doubtful  certainty,  I  have 
preferred  to  list  the  ballets  simply  in  chronological  order  over  the 
period  1786-1821): 

La  Creduta  Vedova  (opera  buffa,  Rome  !7S6);LaFiglia  dell9  Aria 
(Ferrara?) ;  Raul,  Signore  di  Crequi  (Venice) ;  Riccardo  Cuordileone 
(Vienna;  based  on  Sedaine);  Samandria  liberata,  ossia  I  Serviani; 
Clotilde,  Duchessa  di  Salerno ;  Gli  Upmini  di  Prometeo,  ossia  La 
Forza  della  Musica  e  della  Danza  (Vienna);  /  giuochi  1st  mid;  Gli 
Spagnuoli  nelV  Isola  Cristina  (Milan);  //  Noce  di  Benevento;  C. 
Marzio  Coriolano  (Milan);  La  Principessa  nel  Bosco;  Sammete  e 
Tamiri  (Milan);  La  Prepotenza  vinta  dair  Eroismo;  UAlunno  della 
Giumenta,  ossia. Ipotoo  vendicato  (Padua)  ;GliSterlitzi  [sic]  (Venice); 
Prometeo  (Milan,  la  Scala);  Gli  Ussiti  sotto  Naumborgo  (la  Scala); 
Numa  Pompilio  (la  Scala);  Mirra,  ossia  La  Vendetta  di  Venere  (la 
Scala);  Psammi,  Re  delP  Egitto\  Dedalo;  Otello,  ossia  //  Moro  di 
Venezia  (la  Scala);  La  Spada  diKennette;  La  Vestale;  II  Diavolofra 
le  Vendemmie;  Ilnuovo  Pigmalione;  II  Ciabattino,  ossia  II  Diavolo  a 
quattro,  ossia  La  Donne  cambiate;  Le  Tre  Melarancie>  ossia  // 
Principe  Fortunio;  La  Scuola  del  Villaggio;  II  Calzolajo  di  Mont- 
pellier;  I  Titani;  La  Cimene;  Alessandro  neir  Indie;  La  Sabine  in 
Roma  (Milan);  Giovanna  d'Arco  (Milan);  Didone;  Giuta  Figlia 
d'Ottone  Terzo. 


dall 


(Minor  works):  Mazilli  ed  Orisco,  ossia  Gli  Amanti;  Felicitati 
ill9  Accidente  (Vienna);  Lo  Sposo  sciocco;  II  Sindaco  vigilante ; 


486  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

Page 

La  Fiera  di  Barcellona;  La  Vanarella  e  il  Semplice;  Un  Equivoco, 
ossia  Le  Vttlanelle  bizarre',  La  Pastor ella  fortunata;  Due  Case 
attigue;  II  Ratio  del  Serraglio;  I  Giardinieri;  Didone  e  VAmore\ 
Rodolfo  I  Imperatore;  UEbrea  in  Toledo^  Cimbellino;  Margherita 
d'Anjou;  Le  Vicende  di  Milano;  Visione  Allegorica;  VInno 
(Venice). 

218     ...  Ms  ballet  Otello.  Cf.  Stendhal,  Corresp. ,  vol.  II,  p.  57  and  passim. 

218    Madame  Pasta. ...  Cf.  Stendhal,  N.D. ,  passim. 

220  . . .  fair  Parthenope.  The  French  invasion  of  Italy  in  1 799  transformed 

the  Kingdom  of  Naples  into  la  Republique^  parth£nopienne. 

221  Vantar  come  potrai. ...  Stendhal  misquotes  in  the  original  text. 

229  Alessandro  Stradella.  Stendhal  had  already  recounted  the  Stradella 
story  in  V.H.  (p.  233  et  seq.)  For  a  history  of  the  growth  of  the 
legend,  and  details  of  sources,  see  Grove's  Dictionary.  For  details 
of  Stradella  as  a  composer,  see  Heinz  Hess,  Die  Opern  Alessandro 
Stradellas  (1906). 

233  ...  stabbed.  In  the  original  (1 824)  edition,  the  first  volume  ended  with 
this  chapter. 

233  ...  inBergamo.  Cf.  Stendhal,  R.N.F.,  vol.  1,  p.  229. 

234  ...  in  Trieste.  Stendhal  went  to  Trieste  for  the  first  time  in  1830. 

According  to  the  Correspondance,  he  had  seen  La  Cenerentola  in 
both  Milan  (Corresp.,  vol.  2,  p.  41;  1817)  and  Florence  (Ibid., 
vol.  2,  p.  152;  1819). 

234  ...  its  magnificent  tonal  purity.  Cf.  Stendhal,  N.D. ,  1 8th  Nov.  1 824  and 
passim. 

236  ...  orchestral  harmony.  See  above,  note  to  p.  17. 

237  Signora  Righetti.  This  somewhat  touchy  lady  cannot  have  been  any 

too  pleased  to  have  been  described  as  "unknown"  at  the  time. 

There  is  every  evidence  (besides  her  own  affirmations!)  to  the 

contrary.  V.  A.  Cametti,  op.  cit. 

244    Parleremo.  Stendhal  misquotes  in  the  original  edition. 
248    ...prohibited  laughter.  Another  of  Stendhal's  recurrent  ideas.  Cf. 

N.D.,  27th  Nov.  1824. 
255    ...  of  which  Velluti  is  the  master.  ...  Concerning  Velluti's  technique 

and  Rossini's  reaction,  szeLettere  inedite  e  rare  di  G.  Rossini  (1892), 

p.  1  et  seq. ;  A.  Cametti,  Musica  Italiana,  31st  Jan.  1917. 
258    ...platitudinous.  ...  Stendhal  knew  the  play  before  the  opera  was 

composed,  and  was  suspicious  of  the  subject  in  advance.  Cf. 

JUV.F.,vol.  l,p.66. 

258  ...  imbecility. ...  In  the  original:  less***  ("sottises"?  "sceleratesses"?) 

259  . . .  for  the  spring  season.  ...La  Gazza  ladra  was  first  given  at  la  Scala 

on  31st  May  1817.  Stendhal  was  in  Grenoble  at  the  time.  He  prob 
ably  did  not  see  the  opera  before  1820. 

260  ...  was  unparalleled.  There  were,  however,  adverse  criticisms  in  the 

press.  Cf.  Antologia,  1821,  vol.  iv,  p.  40  et  seq.  Cf.  also  Stendhal, 
-R.MF.,vol.2,p.248. 
280    Lo  serberai  tu  stesso.  Stendhal  misquotes  in  the  original  edition. 

288  Signor  Perego.  Cf.  Stendhal,  R.N.F. ,  Vol.  2,  p.  247;  for  examples  of 

the  work  of  the  Milanese  school  of  scene-painters,  v.  Sanquirico, 
Recueil  de  Decorations  The'atrales;  H.  Prunieres,  "Vigan6"  (Revue 
Musicale,  Dec.  1921).  Edward  J.  Dent's  little  hand-book,  Opera 
(Penguin  books,  1940)  contains  one  reproduction  of  Sanquirico's 
setting  for  Mercadante's  Amleto. 

289  Myrrha.  Cf.  Stendhal, R.N.F.,vo\.  1,  p.  51 ;  vol. 2, pp.  250-2;  Corresp., 

passim. 
289    ...feeling  for  music.  Cf.  Stendhal,  N,D., passim. 


NOTES  487 

Page 

289  Darmstadt.  The  musical  "golden  age"  of  Darmstadt  was  already  on 
the  wane  when  Stendhal  was  writing.  Cf.  W.  Saunders,  Weber 
("The  Master  Musicians",  1940),  p.  47. 

293  ...the  secret  of  service.  Cf.  Stendhal,  R.N.F.,  vol.  l,p.216;K7V.,ch.xxii. 
The  "courtier"  concerned  was  General  le  Comte  Louis  de 
Narbonne-Lara  (1755-1813). 

296  The  Duke's  reply  is  well-known.  "Vous  n'etes  done  pas  bon  Francais?" 
asked  Louis  XV.  "Prut  a  Dieu,  sire,  que  les  vers  de  la  tragedie  le 
fussent  autant  que  moi!"  replied  the  Due  d'Ayen.  Cf.  Stendhal, 
R.N.F.,  vol.  1,  p.  204;  De  PA.,  ch.  xlix. 

298    TortonVs  patisserie.  Cf.  George  Moore,  Memoirs  of  my  DeadLife,  Ch.  3. 

300  . . .  the  renown  of  an  Ancient.  Not  only  the  French  critics,  but  the 
Italian  critics  likewise,  compared  Rossini  unfavourably  with  the 
"Ancients"  (Pergolese,  Jomelli,  Paisiello,  Cimarosa,  etc.)  Cf. 
Antologia,  1821,  vol.  iv,  pp.  40-58  ("Opinioni  intorno  la  musica  di 
Gioacchino  Rossini  di  Pesaro");  Corner e  delle  Dame,  21st  June 
1823;  Gazzetta  diMilano,  No.  7,  October  1822,  etc. 

303  ...  an  incorrect  one.  Cf.  Stendhal,  R.N.F. ,  vol.  2,  p.  6 ;  Corresp. ,  vol.  2, 
pp.  243-4. 

309  Arabian  Nights.  The  original  French  is  somewhat  enigmatic:  "J'es- 
time  les  Livres  Saints  comme  une  espece  de  c***  d*  M***  tres 
curieux.  ..."  M.  Prunieres  suggests  Conte  des  Mille  et  une  Nuits, 
which  is  at  least  consonant  with  Stendhal's  known  feelings  on  the 
matter. 

3 13  . . .  a  third  revival  was  announced.  Professor  Barini  ("Per  il  Centenario 

del  Mose",  in  Nuova  Antologia,  1914),  showed  that  Stendhal's 
anecdote  has  no  foundations.  The  prayer  was  added  for  the  second 
production,  and  was  composed  at  leisure  by  Rossini. 

3 14  ...in  the  major.  The  main  subject  is  in  G  minor,  followed  by  a  short  epi 

sode  in Bflat  major,  sung  by  the  chorus.  Then  the  main  theme  returns 
in  G  major.  When  Mose  was  revived  in  Rome  and  Milan  in  1918, 
listeners  were  struck  by  the  appositeness  of  Stendhal's  comments. 

318  ...  awaits  us  one  and  all.  Strangely  enough,  the  very  style  of  singing, 
which  had  long  been  developing  in  Italy,  and  which  Stendhal  holds 
up  as  a  model  to  French  singers,  was  soon  to  disappear;  by  1830, 
it  was  the  Italians  who  had  adopted  the  French  style,  rather  than 
vice-versa.  (V.  Soubies,  Theatre  Italien,  p.  47). 

318  le  Chevalier  de  Micheroux.  Son  of  a  sometime  War-Minister  of  the 
Kingdom  of  Naples,  and  lover  of  Judith  Pasta.  Stendhal  met 
Micheroux  with  la  Pasta  in  Paris,  and  very  likely  incorporated  parts 
of  his  conversation  into  the  Vie  de  Rossini.  Nevertheless,  he  appears 
also  to  have  borrowed  from  Majer's  Discorso  sulla  origine,  pro- 
gressi,  e  stato  attuale  delta  musica  itdiana  (cf.  p.  147  et  seq.),  Padua 
1821. 

321     ...  the  reality  of  good  taste.  Cf.  Stendhal,  R.N.F.,  vol.  2,  p.  291. 

324  Journal  des  Debats.  The  article  referred  to  (24th  November  1823, 
p.  3)  is  a  criticism  of  Le  Valet  de  Chambre  (libretto  by  Scribe,  music 
by  Caraffa);  the  opera  is  compared  unfavourably  with  the  "simple 
style"  of  Gretry. 

329  Velluti.  Stendhal's  admiration  of  Velluti  appears  in  many  of  his  other 
writings,  especially  in  R.N.F.  and  the  Correspondence .  Cf.  in  par 
ticular  Corresp.,  vol.  3,  p.  12. 

336  . .  obscure  newspapers. . . .  E.g. ,  the  Corner  e  delle  Dame  (3 1st  December 
1819;  21st  June  1823);  la  Gazzetta  di  Milano  (No.  280,  1822),  etc. 
Stendhal  himself  makes  the  same  accusation  of  "repetitiveness"; 
v.  R.N.F., passim;  Corresp^  vol.  2,  p.  224. 


488  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

Page 

341  The  art  o/bel  canto. ...  Bel  canto,  as  an  art,  was  known  throughout 
the  XVIth  century,  and  indeed  earlier;  its  influence  upon  the  early 
conception  of  opera  as  such  was  considerable.  V.  Benedetto 
Marcello,  Teatro  alia  moda  (1725);  H.  Prunieres,  UOpfra  italien  en 
France  avantLulti  (Paris  1913). 

345  ...so  the  legend  goes.  ...  Unfortunately,  the  legend  does  not  corres 
pond  with  the  facts.  Paganini  was  already  remarkable  as  an  infant 
prodigy,  performing  on  the  violin  at  the  age  of  eight.  ^ 

350  arie  di  baule.  The  practice  goes  back  at  least  to  the  beginning  of  the 
XVTEIth  century.  Cf.  abb6  Raguenet,  Parallele  de  la  Musique 
italienne  et  de  la  Musique  francoise  (1702),  pp.  9-11. 

355  ...  incompetent  to  deal  with  it.  ...  Cf.  Stendhal,  Corresp.,  vol.  2, 
pp.  194-197. 

361  Madame  Pasta.  Stendhal  first  heard  Judith  Pasta  in  Milan  in  1820. 
At  first  he  was  not  particularly  enthusiastic,  preferring  la  Schiassetti 
(Corresp.,  vol.  2,  pp.  231,  235).  It  was  only  later,  when  he  heard  her 
again  in  Paris,  that  he  began  to  appreciate  her  voice;  but  it  must  be 
remembered  that  this  voice  did  not  in  fact  begin  to  reach  its  full 
maturity  until  1822-3. 

364  . . .  the  simple  manner.  See  above,  note  to  p.  21 7.  Judith  Pasta  enjoyed 
some  of  her  greatest  successes  in  Bellini's  operas,  particularly  in 
Norma,  which  was  written  for  her. 

375  Signorina Pallerini.  Cf.  R.N.F.,  vol.  2,  p.  413 ;  Corresp. ,  vol.  2,  pp.  51, 
62, 172.  See  also  Index. 

378  4th  October  1819.  Actually,  the  premiere  took  place  on  the  24th 

September  1819. 

379  La  Donna  del  Lago.  Something  of  an  analysis  of  this  opera  is  given  in 

N.D.  (V.R.,  vol.  2,  pp.  283-293  sort. passim). 
382    Rome,  1818.  The  premiere  was  on  the  14th  June  1818.  V.  A.  Camettiin 

theAnnuario  delV  Accademia  Sta.  Cecilia,  1917-18. 
382    It  was  brilliantly  successful.  ...  Cf.  Stendhal,  Corresp.,  vol.  2,  p.  50. 

In  fact,  Armida  was  a  complete  failure.  V.  Radiciotti,  "Un  op6ra 

fantastique  de  Rossini"  (Revue  Musicale,  Jan.  1921). 
3  82    Amor,  possente  nome !  The-  score  of  this  famous  aria  is  given  in  Lord 

Derwent's  Rossini  and  some  forgotten  Nightingales,  pp.  325-6. 

382  ...  too  embarrassed  to  praise  it.  Cf.  Stendhal,  Corresp.,  vol.  2,  pp.  33, 

38Q;De/M,ch.xvi. 

383  ...  the  absence  of  an  overture.  Ricciardo  has  an  overture,  which,  how 

ever,  differs  from  Rossini's  usual  conception  of  the  form,  in  that  it 
leads  without  break  into  the  introduzione. 

383  ...in  the  French  tradition.  Lord  Derwent  (op.  cit. ,  p.  1 85)  criticizes  this 

verdict,  maintaining  that  there  are  only  a  small  number  of  "declam 
atory"  passages  scattered  here  and  there  in  the  opera. 

384  ...  singularly  unenthusiastic.  Cf.  Stendhal,  N.D.  (23rd  February  1826). 

385  ...  la  Donna  del  Lago  itself.  Cf.  Stendhal,  N.D.  (V.R.,  pp.  287-311; 

330-333). 

385    ...a  Mass.  Composed  in  March,  1820. 

385  ...  to  try  and  identify  them.  In  this  connection,  M.  Prunieres  recalls 
an  incident  when  Lulli  chanced  to  hear  one  of  his  operatic  arias 
transformed  into  an  anthem:  Mon  Dieul  he  is  said  to  have  ex 
claimed,  Pardonnez-nwi!  Je  ne  Vavais  pas  fait  pour  vous! 

387  ...  this  quartet.  Cf.  Stendhal's  article  in  the  Paris  Monthly  Review; 

also  De  fA.,  ch.  xvi. 

388  Teatro  San-Benedetto.  Contemporary  journals  give  the  sum  of  the 

contract  as  600  sequins. 
388    La  Comelli.  Cf.  Corresp.,  vol.  2,  p.  195.  See  also  Index. 


NOTES  489 

Page 

390  ...  a  man  of  genius.  The  anecdote  (alas!)  is  baseless.  It  was  specified 
in  Rossini's  contract  that  the  new  opera  should  be  composed  of 
music  already  used  in  other  operas  not  yet  performed  in  Venice. 
V.  Azevedo,  Rossini ...  p.  150  et  seq. 

394  ...  to  hear  too  much  of  it.  Toujours  du  Rossini,  c'est  le  pate  cTanguilles 
(Stendhal  to  de  Mareste,  18th  July  1819;  Corresp.,  vol.  2,  p.  152). 

396     ...  French  music.  Cf.  Corresp.,  voL  2,  p.  101. 

399  ...  against  his  old  age.  Stendhal  exaggerates.  Cf.  the  verdict  given  by 
Professor  Dent:  "The  two  most  successful  business  men  of  the 
operatic  world  were  Domenico  Barbaja  ...  and  Gioacchino  Ros 
sini"  (Opera,  pp.  60-1).  Stendhal  tells  in  his  own  Correspondance 
(vol.  2,  p.  164)  how,  in  1819,  Rossini  had  just  invested  100,000  fr. 
with  Barbaja. 

407  ...  the  Average  Man.  Cf.  a  similar  judgment  quoted  in  Blanchard  de 
Forges,  Correspondant,  1909,  p.  1096. 

409  CHRONOLOGICAL  TABLE.  This  list  contains  many  errors.  Some 
have  been  corrected  in  the  text,  and  appear  between  square 
brackets.  For  others,  the  reader  is  referred  to  the  list  of  operas  in 
Appendix  ii,  and  to  the  Index. 

409  ...  reasonably  correct.  In  some  editions,  this  note  appears  separately, 

under  the  heading  Avertissement. 

410  ...the  tenor  Monelli.  For  the  score  of  this  trio,  see  Derwent,  op.  cit., 

p.  315. 

412     ...  the  famous  duet.  See  Lord  Derwent,  op.  cit.,  pp.  325-6. 

415  ...  in  1815.  Inno  Nazionale,  Bologna  1815  (teatro  Contacavalli),  com 
posed  in  honour  of  Napoleon's  return  from  Elba. 

415    Mercadante.  Cf.  Corresp. ,  vol.  2,  passim ;  P.R. ,  4th  December  1 828. 

415    Pacini.  Cf.  Corresp.  vol.  2,  p.  1 12  and  passim. 

415  Meyerbeer.  Cf.  Corresp.,  vol.  2,  pp.  221-2,  197-8;  N.D.,  (llth  Dec 
ember  1824). 

415  Morlacchi.  Cf.  Corresp.,  vol.  2,  p.  480.  For  a  different  view  of  Mor- 

lacchfs  character,  see  W.  Saunders,  Weber  (1940),  pp.  108-119  and 
passim. 

416  The  Utopia  of  the  Theatre  Italien  in  Paris.  This  chapter  was  written  in 

collaboration  with  the  Baron  de  Mareste. 

416  . . .  in  his  youth.  The  administration  of  the  Theatre  Italien  was  a  thorny 
problem  in  1823.  During  the  preceding  ten  years,  five  different 
administrators  had  tried,  and  failed,  to  balance  the  budget.  The 
reign  of  Madame  Catalani  had  been  catastrophic.  On  the  30th 
April  1818,  the  Theatre  Favart  had  been  forced  to  close  down.  As  a 
result,  the  Theatre  Italien,  which  had  occupied  that  theatre,  had 
been  attached  to  the  Academic  de  Musique,  under  the  joint  director 
ship  of  Pertuis  and  Paer.  The  company  had  then  opened  at  the 
Louvois  on  20th  March  1819.  Pertuis  died  in  December  1819,  and 
was  succeeded  by  Viotti,  who  in  his  turn  was  succeeded  by  Haben- 
eck.  Habeneck  soon  ran  into  difficulties,  culminating  in  the  resigna 
tion  of  Garcia  in  March  1823.  In  1824,  Habeneck  himself  resigned, 
to  be  succeeded  by  La  Rochefoucauld  ("administrator*')  and 
Duplantys  ("director**)-  It  was  under  this  joint  administration  that 
Rossini  took  over  the  Theatre  Italien;  but  in  1826  the  company  was 
still  at  least  nominally  under  the  authority  of  the  Academie  de 
Musique,  whose  powers  did  not  cease  to  be  exercised  until  1827. 

424    Lord  Mountedgecumb.  See  Index. 

426  Schiassetti.  Adelaide  Schiassetti  was  in  fact  engaged  at  the  Louvois  a 
few  months  later. 

426    Mombelli.  Ester  Mombelli  was  likewise  engaged  soon  after. 


LR 


490  LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 

Page 

428  ...  two  hundred  and  twenty  boxes.  Cf.  R.N.F.,  vol.  1,  p.  25;  /.  d'L, 
p.  117. 

430    The  teatro  San-Carlo.  Cf.  R.N.F.,  vol.  1,  p.  380  et  seq. 

432    Arminio.  Cf.  Corresp.,  vol.  2,  p.  229. 

434    ...  the  most  vital  topic  of  conversation.  See  above,  note  to  p.  289. 

437  ...  passing  through  Paris.  Rossini  stopped  in  Paris  for  three  weeks 
before  leaving  for  London  on  7th  December  1823.  For  the  history 
of  Rossini's  negotiations  with  the  Theatre  Italien,  which  began  on 
the  first  of  December  1823,  v.  A.  Soubies,  Le  Theatre  Italien  de 
1801  a  1913,  Paris  1913. 

437  . . .  the  finest  things  he  did.  V.  Diderot,  Lettres  d  Sophie  Volland,  edited 
byAndr6Babelon,1931. 

439  ...  charges  of  over-statement.  Sanquirico's  designs  remain  distinctly 
impressive,  even  to-day.  See  the  Collection  Auguste  Rondel  in  the 
Arsenal;  also  article  by  H.  Pruni&res  in  the  Revue  Musicale  (21st 
December  1921). 

441  ...  up  into  our  room.  The  change  of  style  suggests  that  Stendhal  is 

simply  incorporating  into  his  text  an  extract  from  some  private 
letter — a  typical  example  of  his  deliberately  "unstudied**  manner  of 
writing. 

442  Dr  Sangrado.  A  quack  doctor,  who  appears  as  a  character  in  Le  Sage's 

Gil  Bias  de  Santillane  (1715;  part  II,  chs,  3-4). 

445    ...  fair  Parthenope.  See  above,  note  to  p.  220. 

445    The  jettatura. ...  Cf.  R.N.F.9vol.  2, pp.  51-2. 

447  ...  in  the  year  1400  or  thereabouts.  Stendhal  is  about  two  centuries  out. 
See  Index.  Cf.  also  the  Vie  de  Mozart  (V.H.,  p.  270). 

449    ...  withinhissouL  ...  Cf.R.N.F.,voL  l,p,  15;vol.2,p.  121. 

45 1  . .  t  his  vanity.  One  of  Stendhal's  favourite  themes.  Cf.  De  VA. ,  preface, 
p,  xi;  R.N.F.,  vol.  1,  p.  161;  A.C.,  (Les  Cenci),  p.  190;  C.P.,  p.  53, 
etc.,  etc. 

453     ...  starvation  and  penury.  Cf.  R.N.F.,  vol.  2,  p.  160. 

456  ...  a  few  years  ago.  VApologie  d'une  pauvre  personne  accabUe^ 
opprimee  par  ses  amis  was  first  published  in  1820  in  a  collection 
entitled  Nouvelles  lettres  de  Mile,  de  Lespinasse. . . .  (Paris,  Maradan). 
There  was  considerable  doubt  about  the  genuineness  of  many  of 
the  letters  in  this  collection;  but  recent  critics  are  inclined  to  accept 
them  as  being  in  fact  by  the  writer  to  whom  they  are  attributed.  The 
translation  is  here  given  from  a  corrected  text,  not  from  that  quoted 
by  Stendhal. 


INDEX  AND  TABLE  OF  REFERENCES 


(The  correct  or  accepted  spelling  of  proper  names  is  given  first;  alternatives  in  brackets  afterwards.') 


Abbot,  The  (novel).  See  Scott,  Walter. 

Abeille,  V  (periodical).  Paris  1821-2.  Edited  by 
Berton,  Berville,  etc.  Originally  entitled  La 
Minerve  Litteraire;  97,  101,  124,  143. 

Abraham  ("oratorio").  See  Cimarosa,  // 
Sacrifizio  d'Abramo. 

Abufar  (opera).    See  Carafa,  Michele. 

Acad6mie  des  Inscriptions  et  Belles-Lettres. 
Founded  by  Colbert  in  1663  for  the  encour 
agement  of  historical  or  archeological 
research;  124. 

Academic  Francaise.  Founded  by  Richelieu  in 
1635,  originally  with  the  purpose  of  compil 
ing  the  Dictionnaire  de  I'Academie.  In  con 
siderable  disrepute  in  the  early  XDCth 
century,  owing  to  its  autocratic  literary 
conservatism;  96,  100,  205,  285,  311,  368. 

ADBLAlDA  Di  BORGOGNA.  Opera  by  Rossini, 
libretto  by  Giovanni  Schmidt,  librettist  of  the 
San-Carlo  Theatre.  Performed  Rome  (Teatro 
Argentina)  27th  Dec.  1817.  Overture  bor 
rowed  from  la  Cambiale.  Failure;  382,  412. 

Adelasia  ed  Aleramo  (opera).  See  Mayr. 

Adelina  (opera).  See  Generali. 

ADINA,    OSSia    JL    CALDETO    DI    BAGDAD.    Opera 

by  Rossini,  libretto  by  Bevilacqua-Aldo- 
brandini,  based  on  another  by  Romani. 
Written  1818,  performed  Lisbon  1826  (Sao- 
Carlos  Theatre).  Failure;  413. 

Aeschylus.  Greek  tragic  dramatist  (525-456 
B.C.);  324. 

Agamemnon  (tragedy).  See  Lemercier. 

Agguchi,  Signer.  Friend  of  Stendhal  in 
Bologna;  64. 

Agnese  (opera).  See  Paer,  Agnese  di  Fitz- 
Henry. 

Albert,  Monsieur.  Ballet-dancer.  Leading 
dancer  at  the  King's  Theatre,  London, 
1821-2  and  1824.  Husband  of  Augustine 
Albert-Himm,  a  once-celebrated  soprano.  See 
Guillaume  le  Flaneur,  Petite  Biographic  Dra- 
matique  (1821);  205. 

Albrizzi,  Signora  Isabella,  nee  Teotochi 
(b.  Corfu  1760;  d.  Venice  1836).  One  of  the 
famous  blue-stockings  of  the  Romantic 
movement;  known  as/a  Stael  Veneziana  or  as 
la  saggia  Isabella,  she  is  now  best  remembered 
for  her  work  Opere  di  Scultura  e  di  Plastica 
di  Antonio  Canova  (Firenze  1809);  192. 

Alembert,  Jean  le  Rond  d'  (1717-1783).  French 
writer,  philosopher  and  mathematician, 
illegitimate  son  of  Madame  de  Tencin. 
Founder-collaborator  of  the  Encyclopedic, 
and  author  of  the  famous  Discours  Prelimin- 
aire;  198,  321. 

Alexander  the  Great  (356-323  B.C.).  King  of 
Macedon  and  pupil  of  Aristotle;  conqueror 
of  Greece  and  Persia  as  far  as  the  Indus;  212. 

Alexander  VI  Borgia,  Pope  from  1492  to  1505. 
Politician  and  statesman,  with  something  of 
an  undeserved  reputation  for  treachery.  See 
Ferrara,  The  Borgia  Pope  (1942);  240. 

Alfieri,  Vittorio  (b.  Asti  1749;  d.  Florence, 
1803).  Poet  and  political  figure,  and  one  of 
Italy's  greatest  tragic  dramatists.  His  famous 

LR 


autobiography,  Vita  di  Vittorio  Alfieri,  da 
Asti,  scritta  da  esso  ...  was  published  in  two 
parts,  in  1790  and  1803;  160,  405. 

Alfred  le  Grand  (ballet).  SeeAumer. 

Aline,  ou  la  Reine  de  Golconde  (opera).  See 
Berton. 

Alison,  Sir  Archibald  (1757-1839).  English 
critic,  writer  and  philosopher.  His  major 
work,  Essays  on  the  Nature  and  Principles  of 
Taste  (Edinburgh,  1790)  was  published  to 
gether  with  another  work,  Lord  Francis 
Jeffrey's  Essay  on  Beauty;  239. 

AUegri,  Gregorio  (c.  1580-1652).  A  relative  of 
Correggio,  he  was  appointed  to  the  Apostolic 
Chapel  by  Pope  Urban  VUI  in  1629.  His 
works  include  concertini  and  motetti  and  the 
famous  Miserere  for  nine  voices  in  two  choirs, 
sung  in  the  pontifical  chapel  during  Holy 
Week.  See  the  Musical  Times,  1885,  p.  455; 
447. 

Alunno  della  Giumenta,  V  (ballet).  See  Vigano. 

Ambrogetti,  Giuseppe.  A  basso-buffo  of  no 
great  power,  but  with  great  gifts  as  an  actor. 
He  first  appears  in  1807,  and  in  Paris  in  1815, 
in  Don  Giovanni.  His  most  famous  part  was 
that  of  the  mad  father  in  Pagr's  Agnese.  Ho 
disappears  after  1838,  and  is  said  to  have 
become  a  monk;  24. 

Ambrosi,  Antonio.  A  bass  singer,  never  in  the 
front  rank;  a  member  of  the  original  cast  of 
la  Gazza  and  of  Matilde  di Shabran;  164,261, 
271,  412,  414,  426. 

Anatole,  Madame  Constance-Hippolyte,  nee 
Gosselin  (b.  Paris  1793;  retired  1830).  French 
ballet-dancer  at  the  Opera.  A  pupil  of  Coulon, 
Madame  Anatole  made  her  debut  in  1813; 
subsequently  she  appeared  (together  with  her 
husband)  in  Paris,  Brussels,  Berlin  and  Lon 
don,  in  which  latter  city  she  was  known  as  the 
Goddess  of  the  Dance;  205. 

Ancelot,  Jacques-Arsene-Francois-Polycarpe 
(b.  Le  Havre  1794;  d.  Paris  1854).  A  popular 
dramatist,  who  began  with  tragedy  but  later 
turned  to  comedy  and  farce.  His  wife, 
Marguerite  Chardon  (1792-1875)  was  also  a 
successful  dramatist,  under  the  name  of 
Virginie  Ancelot.  His  first  tragedy,  Louis  IX, 
(1819)  concentrated  the  royalist  opposition 
to  Casimir  Delavigne's  V£pres  SiciUennes; 
Le  Moire  du  Palais  dates  from  1823;  33. 

Ancillo.  Minor  Venetian  poet;  389. 

Andromaque  (tragedy).    See  Racine. 

Anfossi,  Pasquale  (c.  1736-1797).  Neapolitan 
composer,  at  first  pupil,  then  rival  of  Piccinni. 
His  works  include  46  operas  and  7  oratorios: 
his  most  successful  achievement  was  I' Incog 
nita  Perseguitata  (1773).  Two  other  operas, 
n  Curioso  indiscrete  and  Le  Gelosie  fortunate, 
both  received  additions  from  the  hand  of 
Mozart;  26,  119, 120,  308. 

Annales  Litteraires  (periodical).  I.e.,  Annales  de 
la  Litterature  et  des  Arts.  Edited  by  Quatre- 
mere  de  Quincy,  Raoul-Rochette,  Charles 
Nodier,  Ancelot,  etc.  Paris  1820-28;  202. 

R2 


LIFE  OF  ROSSltft 


Ansani,  Giovanni  (c.  1750-1815).  Italian  tenor 
and  composer,  with  an  international  repu 
tation  in  the  XVIIIth  century.  Sang  in  Italy, 
London  (1780-1),  Copenhagen  (1770),  etc. 
Retired  in  1800.  See  Burney,  General  History 
of  Music\  341. 

Antonini,  Signer.  A  Bolognese  lawyer,  friend 
of  Stendhal;  64. 

Apocalypse,  The;  18,  32. 

Apostoli,  Francesco  (b.  1755).  An  unsuccessful 
Italian  official,  repeatedly  victim  of  the 
political  troubles  of  his  time.  He  was  im 
prisoned  in  Corfu  (1794-7);  later  in  Sebenico 
and  Petervaradino.  Turned  towards  litera 
ture  at  the  end  of  his  career;  his  most  success 
ful  work,  the  Letter e  Sirmiensiper  servire  alia 
storia  della  deportazione  de*  cittadini  Cisal- 
pini  in  Dalmazia  ed  Ungheria,  deals  with  his 
second  period  of  imprisonment;  325. 

Apoteosi  d'Ercole.  V  (opera).   See  Mercadante. 

Appiani,  Andrea  (b.  Milan  1754;  d.  1817). 
Milanese  painter,  greatly  favoured  by 
Napoleon,  who,  in  1796,  made  him  "com- 
missario  superiore"  for  procuring  works  of 
art  for  Paris.  Best  known  as  a  painter  of 
portraits,  and  of  symbolical  canvases  glori 
fying  Napoleon;  91. 

Aprile,  Giuseppe  (b.  Bisceglia  1738;  d.  1814). 
Great  Xyillth  century  male  contralto,  per 
forming  in  Italy  and  Germany  from  1763. 
Heard  by  Burney  in  Naples  in  1770.  A 
famous  teacher,  and  master  of  Cimarosa; 
339,  341. 

Ariosto,  Ludovico  (b.  Reggio  d'Emilia  1474; 
d.  Ferrara  1533).  Major  Italian  poet,  em 
ployed  by  the  house  of  d'Este.  His  Orlando 
Furioso  was  begun  in  1506,  published  in  1516, 
and  considerably  revised  in  1532;  18, 19, 106. 

Aristotle  (384-322  B.C.).  Greek  philosopher: 
320,  324. 

ARMIDA.  Opera  by  Rossini.  Libretto  by 
Giovanni  Schmidt  from  Tasso's  Gerusalemme 
Liberata.  Performed  San-Carlo  Theatre, 
November  llth,  1817.  Popular  in  Italy  and 
Germany;  7,  38,  126,  167,  295,  332,  382, 
407,  412. 

Arminio  opera).  SeePavesi. 

Artaserse  (opera).   See  Vinci. 

Astree,  /'  (novel).  See  Urfe. 

Auber,  Daniel-Francois-Esprit  (b.  Caen  1782; 
d.  Paris  1871).  French  composer,  a  pupil  of 
Cherubim.  His  first  successful  opera,  la 
Bergere  Chatelaine  was  given  at  the  Opera 
Comique  in  1820.  In  popularity,  he  rivalled 
Rossini;  and  he  had  the  fortune  to  secure  in 
Scribe  the  services  of  a  great  librettist.  See 
Grove's  Dictionary  for  a  list  of  his  works;  84. 

AugbinS,  Th6odore  Agrippa  d*  (1552-1630). 
French  poet  and  satirist  of  great  power,  who 
is  best  known  by  his  poem  les  Tragiques 
(1616).  Other  works  include  Les  Aventures  du 
Baron  de  Foeneste  (1616-30),  and  his  auto 
biographical  Memoires  de  la  Vie  de  Theodore- 
Agrippa  d'Aubigne  ...  ecrits  par  lui-meme 
(published  1731);  84,  85,  201. 

Auletta,  Monsieur.  A  minor  singer  at  the 
Theatre  Louvois;  4,  18. 

Aumer,  Pierre  (d.  1832).  Ballet-dancer,  drama 
tist  and  choreographer.  He  was  a  lead 
ing  dancer  at  the  King's  Theatre  in 
1823-5.  His  major  ballets  include  Alfred  le 
Grand  (ballet-pantomime  in  3  acts,  music  by 
Gallenberg,  Academic  Royale  de  Musique, 
Sept.  1822)  and  Les  Pages  du  Due  de  Venddme 
(ballet  in  1  act.  music  by  Gyrowitz,  Theatre 
Favart  1820);  201,  422. 


AURELIANO  IN  PALMIRA.  Opera  by  Rossini. 
Libretto  by  Rornani.  Performed  at  la  Scala, 
Milan,  26th  December  1813.  Overture  subse 
quently  used  for  Elisabetta  and  the  Barberi 
131-2,  156,  184,  265,  329,  333,  340,  384,  411, 
426. 

Ayen,  due  d'.  One  of  the  titles  of  Louis,  due  de 
Noailles  (1713-1793).  French  soldier  and 
administrator,  created  Marshal  of  France  in 
1775.  Famous  for  his  witty  and  sarcastic 
tongue;  296. 

Aylesford,  Edward  Finch,  Earl  of  (1756-1843). 
An  English  general  belonging  to  a  musical 
family  (cf.  Edward  Finch,  composer,  1664- 
1738),  who  retired  from  active  service  in  1819. 
Administrator  of  the  King's  Theatre;  424. 

Babbini  (Babini),  Matteo  (b.  Bologna  1754; 
d.  Bologjaa  1816).  Italian  tenor,  whose 
patrons  included  Frederick  the  Great  and 
Catherine  of  Russia.  Retired  in  1803.  His 
most  successful  parts  were  in  Cimarosa's 
Orazii  and  Mayr's  Misteri  Eleusini.  See 
P.  Brighenti,  Elogio  di  Matteo  BabbinL 
Bolgna  1822;  318,  326,  341,  344. 

Bach,  Johann  Sebastian  (1685-1750).  German 
composer;  120,  121. 

Bacon,  Francis,  Baron  Veralam,  Viscount  St. 
Alban  (1561-1621).  Philosopher  and  states 
man,  Lord  Chancellor  of  England  under 
James  I  until  his  disgrace.  A  major  influence 
on  the  ideas  of  the  French  Philosophes>  from 
whom  Stendhal  derives;  126. 

Baker,  Mr  =  Robert  Barker  (b.  Kells  1739; 
d.  South wark  1806).  English  water-colour 
artist,  the  reputed  inventor  of  the  "panor 
ama".  From  1793,  Barker  exhibited  his 
circular  landscapes  (90  feet  in  diameter)  in 
Leicester  Square,  beginning  with  a  "View  of 
the  Grand  Fleet  at  Spithead".  The  enterprise 
was  successful.and  Barker  made  afortune;  439. 

Balsamina  (Balzamini),  Signora  Camilla  (b. 
Milan  1784;  d.  Milan  1810).  Distinguished 
Italian  contralto,  prominent  on  the  stages  of 
Italy  and  France  1807-10;  17. 

Banti,  Brigitta  Giorgi  (b.  Crema  1759;  d.  Bol 
ogna  1806).  A  street-singer,  engaged  by  de 
Vismes  for  the  Opera  (1778).  A  pupil  of 
Sacchini,  Piozzi  and  Abel,  she  is  reputed  to 
have  learnt  nothing  at  any  time.  A  brilliant 
natural  soprano,  who  sang  in  many  operas  by 
Gluck,  Paesiello,  Nasolini,  Bianchi,  etc.  On 
her  death,  she  bequeathed  her  larynx  to  the 
Municipality  of  Bologna;  318,  341. 

Barbaja  (Barbaia,  Barbaglia),  Domenico 
(b.  Milan  1778;  d.  Posilipo  1841).  One  of  the 
greatest  impresari  of  all  time.  His  "discov 
eries'*  include  Rossini,  Bellini,  Donizetti  and 
the  dancer  Taglioni,  besides  many  others. 
After  managing  the  San-Carlo,  he  went  to 
Vienna  as  manager  of  the  KSrthner-Thor 
and  Auf  dem  Wien  theatres.  He  himself 
figures  in  an  opera,  la  Sirene,  by  Auber  and 
Scribe;  147, 148, 149, 150,  151,  157,  162,  166, 
377,  430,  442. 

Barbiere  di  Siviglia,  il  (Opera).  See  Paesiello. 

BARBIERE  DI  SF/IGLIA,  EL,  OSSia  ALMAVIVA,  OSSia 

L'INUTILE  PRECAUZIONE.  Opera  by  Rossini. 
Libretto  by  Sterbini  from  Beaumarchais* 
play  Le  Barbier  de  Seville.  Performed  at  the 
Teatro  Argentina,  Rome,  20th  Feb.  1816. 
See  Bibliography,  under  entry  Giorgi- 
Righetti;  37,  38,  49,  56,  65,  97,  99,  100,  101, 
114,  148,  156,  167,  169,  171-196,  202,  203, 
204,  205,  252,  259,  263,  270,  300,  323,  390, 
394,  395,  397,  412. 


INDEX  AND  TABLE  OF  REFERENCES 


493 


Bardes,  les  (opera).  See  Lesueur,  Ossian,  ou 
Les  Bardes. 

Barilli,  Luigi  (b.  Modena  1767;  d.  Paris  1824). 
Italian  buffo-cantante,  debut  in  Paris  in  1805. 
Became  Administrator  of  the  The&tre- 
Italien  in  1809,  but  the  enterprise  was 
financially  ruinous.  From  1820,  he  was 
employed  as  regisseur  of  the  Louvois  by 
Madame  Catalani;  39,  261,  418. 

Barilli,  Signora  Marianna,  nee  Bondini 
(b.  Dresden  1780;  d.  Paris  1813).  Wife  of 
Luigi.  A  soprano  who  made  her  Paris  debut 
in  1807  (in  Guglielmi's  le  due  Gemelli),  but 
whose  reputation  was  affected  by  her  ner 
vousness  and  weak  health;  219,  269. 

Barnave,  Antoine-Pierre-Joseph-Marie  (1761- 
1793).  French  politician  who  was  a  distin 
guished  member  of  the  Left  in  the  early  days 
of  the  Revolution.  A  fine  orator  of  Girondin 
sympathies,  he  entered  into  relations  with  the 
Court  after  Varennes.  Guillotined  under 
Robespierre;  204. 

Baron  de  Dolsheim,  le  (opera).  See  Pacini, 
//  Barone  di  Dolsheim. 

Baronne  de  Luz,  la  (novel).  See  Duclos. 

Barthelemy,  Abb6  Jean-Jacques  (1716-1795). 
French  scholar  and  writer,  best  known  for  his 
Voyage  du  Jeune  Anacharsis  en  Grece,  an 
outstanding  example  of  popularized  erudi 
tion;  200. 

Bassi,  Luigi  (b.  Pesaro  1766;  d.  1825).  An 
eminent  Italian  buffo  baritone,  who  spent  the 
best  part  of  his  career  in  Prague,  where  he 
was  most  successful  in  operas  by  Paesiello. 
Mozart's  Don  Giovanni  was  written  for  his 
voice.  Later  manager  of  the  Dresden  opera- 
house;  25,  194,  468. 

Bassi,  Signora  Carolina  ("la  Napolitaine") 
(b.  Naples  c.  1780;  retired  c.  1821).  Italian 
soprano,  who  made  her  debut  in  Naples  in 
1798.  Rossini  wrote  Bianca  e  Faliero  for  her 
and  Signora  Camporesi  (1819),  but  her  voice 
was  then  already  going;  386,  413. 

Bavaria,  King  Maximilian  I  of  (formerly  the 
Elector  Maximilian  IV  Joseph:  reigned 
1799-1825).  A  comparatively  enlightened 
monarch,  who  steered  his  country  well 
through  a  difficult  period;  434. 

Bayard,  Pierre  du  Terrail,  seigneur  de  (1473- 
1524).  Famous  French  hero  in  the  wars  of 
Charles  VIII,  Louis  XII  and  Francois  I. 
Known  as  le  Chevalier  sans  Peur  et  sans 
Reproche.  Involved  in  the  battles  of  Agnadel 
(1509);  Brescia  (1512);  M6zieres  (1521);  61. 

Beaulieu,  Jean-Pierre  de  (1725-1819).  Austrian 
general,  born  in  Brabant;  he  acquired  his 
military  reputation  in  the  Seven  Years'  War, 
but  he  was  defeated  by  Napoleon  in  the 
Italian  campaigns;  376. 

Beaumarchais,  Pierre- Augustin  Caron,  Sieur 
de  (1732-1799).  French  watchmaker, 
inventor,  musician,  diplomat,  intriguer,  poet, 
playwright,  financier,  etc.  His  greatest  plays, 
le  Barbier  de  Seville  and  le  Manage  de 
Figaro  (1775  and  1784)  are  not  only  comedies, 
but  violent  political  satires — an  aspect  which 
is  lost  in  the  libretti  which  have  been  derived 
from  them;  71,  198,  235,  254. 

Beethoven,  Ludwig  van  (1770-1827).  German 
composer.  Rossini  met  Beethoven  in  Vienna 
in  1822.  The  introduction  was  effected  by 
Carpani,  Rossini's  other  early  biographer 
(see  Bibliography),  who,  however,  detested 
Beethoven's  music;  51,  60,  120,  123,  384. 

Beggar's  Opera,  The  (ballad-opera).  Libretto  by 
John  Gay,  music  scored  from  popular  songs 


by  Dr  Pepusch.  In  part,  the  work  is  a  satire 
on  contemporary  Italian  opera.  Produced  by 
John  Rich,  29tb  Jan.  1728;  454. 

Belgioioso,  Princess.  Probably  Anna  Ricciarda 
d'Este,  wife  of  Alberico  Barbiano  di  Belgi 
oioso  (1725-1813),  and  not  the  famous 
Cristina  Belgioioso-Trivulzio  (1808-1871), 
who  was  to  become  Rossini's  patroness  at  a 
later  date;  414. 

Belloc,  Madame  Teresa  Giorgi  (1784-1855).  An 
ugly  and  coarse-voiced  soprano  of  French 
parentage,  who  first  triumphed  in  Paesiellp's 
Nina  at  la  Scala  in  1804.  Sang  on  most  major 
stages  until  her  retirement  in  1825.  Rossini 
wrote  parts  ml'Ingannofelice  and  in  la  Gazza 
ladra  for  her  voice;  260,  266,  322,  358,  366, 
410,  412. 

Belmonte,  Princess,  of  Naples.  A  friend  of 
Stendhal;  155,  156,  379. 

Bembo,  Cardinal  Pietro  (1470-1547).  A  cele 
brated  Renaissance  humanist  and  latinist 
with  a  European  reputation.  Bembo  was 
secretary  to  Pope  Leo  X.  His  best-known 
work  is  his  History  of  Venice  (1487-1537); 

Benda,  Hans  Georg.  A  weaver  and  wandering 
musician  who  founded  a  famous  family,  of 
whom  the  best  known  was  the  clarinet- 
player  and  composer  Georg  Benda  (1722- 
1792).  Hans'  other  children  included  Franz 
(1709-1786),  violinist  and  composer;  Johann 
(1713-1752),  violinist;  Joseph  (1724-1785), 
violinist;  and  Franziska  (1726-1780),  singer; 
120. 

Benedetti,  Signor.  An  Italian  bass,  about 
whom  little  is  known,  save  that  he  sang  in 
Naples  between  1816  and  1821,  and  in 
London  in  1820;  220,  221,  310,  412,  413, 
414,  415. 

Benelli,  Signor.  Director  of  the  King's  Theatre, 
London,  1823-4.  See  Ebers,  Seven  Years  of 
the  King's  Theatre,  chapters  7-9;  419,  426, 
427. 

Bentinck,  Lord  William  Cavendish  (1774- 
1839).  English  general  and  administrator. 
Served  under  Wellington  during  the  Napole 
onic  campaigns;  governor-general  of  Bengal 
(1828);  later  first  governor-general  of  India. 
In  1814,  Bentinck  commanded  a  successful 
expedition  against  Genoa,  *' where  he  issued 
two  proclamations  which,  anticipating  by 
nearly  half  a  century  the  proclamation  of 
Italian  unity,  caused  some  embarrassment  to 
his  government";  399. 

Benzoni,  Contessa  Maria,  n&e  Querini  (b. 
Corfu  1757;  d.  1839).  A  famous  beauty  of 
the  end  of  the  XVTlIth  century,  whose  salon 
Stendhal  frequented  in  1815  (Palazzo  San- 
Benedetto,  in  Venice).  She  is  reputed  to  be 
the  heroine  of  the  Romance  La  Biondina  in 
Gondoletta  (<?.v.),  which  was  set  to  music  by 
Simon  Mayr;  48,  64. 

Beranger,  Pierre-Jean  de  (1780-1857).  French 
poet  and  song-writer.  His  early  work  is  light 
and  epicurean,  his  later  songs  biting  and 
satirical.  Grove's  Dictionary  gives  a  list  of  his 
libretti;  203. 

Bergere,  rue.   See  Conservatoire. 

Berio  di  Salsa,  Marchese  Francesco,  of  Naples. 
The  librettist  of  Otello  and  of  Ricciardo,  and 
a  personal  friend  of  Stendhal;  64,  222,  227, 
322,  383. 

Bernacchi,  Antonio  (1690-1756).  Bolognese 
male-soprano,  a  pupil  of  Pistocchi.  His 
debut  was  made  about  1712;  subsequently  he 
sang  in  London  and  Italy  (1716-26)  and  in 


494 


LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 


the  service  of  the  Emperor  and  of  the  Elector 
of  Bavaria.  He  was  the  greatest  popularize!  of 
the  "embroidered"  style  of  singing;  341,  342. 
Bernard-L6on:  Jean-Pierre  Bernard,  known  as 
(b.  Paris  1785;  d.  Paris  1858).  Began  his 
career  as  Beaumarchais'  secretary;  then 
turned  novelist,  dramatist,  amateur  actor, 
and  finally  (1820)  professional  actor.  One  of 
the  leading  lights  of  the  Gymnase  between 
1820-1840;  217. 

Bern,  Duchesse  de  (1798-1870).  Daughter  of 
Francis  I  of  Naples;  married  Charles,  Due  de 
Berri  (second  son  of  Charles  X  of  France, 
assassinated  1820)  in  1816.  An  energetic 
lady,  she  attempted  in  1822  to  stir  up  la 
Vendee  in  revolt  against  Louis-Philippe, 
failed,  and  was  imprisoned  for  a  while  at 
Blaye;  414. 
Berti,  Tommaso.  Member  of  the  original  cast 

of  I' Occasions  fa  tt  Ladro;  411. 
Bertoletti.  Milanese  general;  91. 
Berton,  Henri  Montan  (1767-1844).  Son  of  the 
well-known  composer  and  conductor  Pierre 
Montan  Berton  (1727-1780).  As  a  violinist, 
Berton  was  an  infant  prodigy;  he  was  a  pupil 
of  Rey  and  Sacchini.  His  first  comic  operas 
were  performed  in  1787,  and  inaugurated  a 
series  of  minor  masterpieces.  His  career  was 
distinguished,  and  far  more  influential  in 
French  music  than  Stendhal  would  have  us 
believe;  84,  98-102, 109,  194. 
His  works  include: 
Aline,  ou  la  Reine  de  Golconde  (3  acts, 

Paris  1803);  97. 

le  Detire  (1  act,  Paris  1799);  97,  99. 
Montana   et   Stephanie   (comic   opera, 
libretto  by  Dejaure;  3  acts,  Theatre 
Feydeau  1798;  his  best  work);  97,  99, 
102. 

les  Rigueurs  du  Cloitre  (a  "revolution 
ary"  opera,  2  acts,  Paris  1790);  99. 
Virginie  (opera,  3  acts,  Paris  1823);  101. 
De   la    Musique   mecanique    et    de   la 
musique  philosophique  (treatise,  Paris 
1821);  97. 

Epitre  a  un  cilebre  Compositeur  francais 
(treatise,  Paris  1823).  Both  these 
treatises  were  inspired  by  jealousy  of 
Rossini.  Their  hero  is  Boieldieu,  who, 
it  is  said,  was  not  pleased  by  being 
thus  elevated. 

Besenval  (Bezanval),  Pierre-Victor,  Baron  de 
(1742-1794).  French  soldier  and  writer,  in 
command  of  the  Swiss  regiment  in  1789; 
withdrew  his  troops  without  orders  when  the 
Bastille  was  attacked.  Author  of  his  Mem- 
oires  de  M.  le  Baron  de  Besenval  (3  vols., 
Paris  1805);  and  of  a  number  of  contes, 
including  le  Spleen  (see  Les  Conteurs  du 
XVUle  siecle,  Paris  (Flammarion)  1899); 
199,203. 

Bianca,  la  contessa:  i.e.,  Bianca  Milesi  (b. 
Milan  1790;  d.  Paris  1849).  One  of  Stendhal's 
closest  friends,  and  an  aunt  of  his  beloved 
M6thilde  Viscontini.  She  was  also  a  fervent 
supporter  of  the  Milanese  patriots  and 
carbonari.  See  Martineau,  Petit  Dictionnaire 
Stendhalien,  pp.  337-9;  31. 

BIANCA  E  FALDERO,  OSSia  H,  CONSIQLIO  DEI  TRE. 

Opera  by  Rossini.  Libretto  by  Romani, 
based  on  Manzoni,  it  Conte  di  Carmagnola. 
Performed  at  la  Scala  on  26th  Dec.  1819; 
36,  38,  386-387,  388,  391,  413. 
Bianchi,  Eliodoro  (b.  Cividate  1773;  retired 
1836).  Distinguished  Italian  tenor,  trained  in 
Naples  under  Tritto.  Debut  at  Naples  in 


1799,  at  la  Scala  in  1803.  Rossini  wrote  parts 
for  him  in  Giro,  Aureliano  and  Eduardo. 
Teacher  of  the  Russian  tenor,  Ivanov;  410, 
411,  412,  413. 

Bianchi,  Francisco.  Architect,  XVIHth 
century,  working  mainly  in  Rome  and 
Perugia;  429. 

Bianchi,  Luciano.  Member  of  the  original  cast 
of  Eduardo  e  Cristina  (1819);  413. 

Bigottini,  Signorina  (b.  Paris  1784;  d.  Passy 
1858).  French  ballet-dancer  and  a  brilliant 
mime.  Her  career  at  the  Opera  lasted  from 
1812  to  1825;  but  in  1828,  Auber,  Scribe  and 
G.  Delavigne  devised  for  her  the  famous  part 
of  Fenella  in  La  Muette  de  Portici;  205. 

Biondina  in  Gondolettat  la  (song).  Words 
usually  ascribed  to  Buratti  (#.v.),  but  also  to 
Antonio  Lamberti.  Music  by  Simon  Mayr. 
SeeBenzoni;  192. 

Bocci,    Signor.    Dancer   in    Vigan6's    ballet 


Boieldieu,  Francois  Adrien  (b.  Rouen  1775; 
d.  1834).  French  composer,  and  acknow 
ledged  leader  of  the  national  school  of  comic 
opera  writers  in  the  early  XJXth  century.  A 
pupil  of  Cherubim",  he  succeeded  M6hul  at 
the  Conservatoire  in  1817.  His  operas  in 
clude:  le  Caliphe  de  Bagdad  (1800);  Jean 
de  Paris  (1812)  and  la  Dame  Blanche 
(1825);  84. 

Boileau-Despr6aux,Nicolas(1636-171  1).  French 
poet  and  critic,  later  taken  as  a  model  by 
Alexander  Pope.  His  Epttre  a  Racine  is  a 
spirited  defence  of  Racine's  Phedre  (1677) 
against  the  cabale  organized  by  the  Duchesse 
de  Bouillon  in  favour  of  Pradon:  22,  63,  299. 
300. 

Bonald,  Vicomte  Louis  de  (1754-1840).  French 
philosopher  and  writer,  one  of  the  most 
violent  reactionaries  of  the  post-revolu 
tionary  period;  he  defends  a  mystic  concep 
tion  of  the  State  based  upon  the  divinity  of 
the  King  and  the  political  power  of  the 
Church;  87. 

Bonaparte,    Lucien,    Prince    de    Canino    Cb 
Ajaccio   1775;  d.  Viterbo   1840).      Second 
brother  of  Napoleon;  revolutionary  member 
of  the  Conseil  des  Cinq-Cents;  prepared  the 
coup  d'etat  of  18  Brumaire.  After  a  quarrel 
with  Napoleon,  he  retired  to  Rome:  66. 
Bonaparte,  Napoleon  (b.  Ajaccio  1769:  d.  St. 
Helena  1821);  1,  9,  48,  82,  85,  91,  158-159, 
171,  188,  259,  267,  274,  280,  293-294;  296 
317,  318,  319,  376,  418,  430,  431,  435,  455. 
battles:   Arcola  (15th-17th  November  1796); 
Napoleon,       with       Augereau, 
Lannes  and  Massena,  defeats  the 
Austrians  under  Alvinzy;  9,  62. 
Lodi  (9th  May  1796);  Napoleon, 
with     Lannes,      Berthier      and 
Massena,  defeats  the  Austrians 
under  Beaulieu;  62. 

writings:  Correspondence  inedite,  officielle  et 
confidentielle,  de  Napoleon 
Bonaparte.  Paris,  7  vols.,  1819-20: 
9. 

Memoir  es  pour  servir  a  I'Histoire  de 
France  sous  Napoleon,  Merits  a 
Sainte  Helene>  par  les  generaux 
qui  ont  portage  sa  Captivitt,  et 
publics  sur  les  manuscrits  entiere- 
ment  corrigts  de  la  main  de 
Napoleon.  Paris,  2  vols.,  1823: 
296. 
see  also:  Las  Cases;  Manzoni. 


INDEX  AND  TABLE  OF  REFERENCES 


495 


Bonoldi,  Claudio  (b.  Piacenza  1783;  d.  Milan 
1846).  Italian  tenor,  trained  under  Carcani 
and  Gherardi.  Sang  in  Reggio  and  Parma, 
and  later  throughout  Italy,  but  failed  in 
Paris  (1823).  Retired  1828;  20,  410,  412,  413, 

Bonoldi,  Lodovico.  A  singer  at  the  The&tre 
Louvois;  417. 

Bordogni,  Giulio  Marco  (1788-1856).  Italian 
tenor,  a  pupil  of  Simon  Mayr,  who  sang  at 
la  Scala  from  1813-1815,  but  spent  most  of 
his  career  in  Paris.  He  was  one  of  the  great 
teachers  at  the  Conservatoire;  7,  417. 

Borghese,  la  Zitella:  see  Le  President  de  Brasses 
en  Italie,  Lettres  familieres  Writes  d' 'Italic  en 
1739  et  1740,  3rd  ed.,  Paris  1861,  vol.  n, 
p.  216  (Lettre  XLIV);  182. 

Bossuet,  Jacques-Benigne  (1627-1704).  Born  at 
Dijon,  Bishop  of  Condom,  later  of  Meaux. 
French  historian,  preacher  and  stylist:  167, 
199,  200,  283. 

Botticelli,  Bartolomeo.  Italian  singer  who  was 
the  original  Bartolp;  172,  411,  412. 

Botticelli,  V.  Italian  singer  who  was  the 
original  Fabbrizio  in  la  Gazza  ladra;  261, 412, 

Boucher,  Francois  (1703-1770).  French  painter 
of  the  school  of  Watteau  and  Fragonard;  439. 

Branchu,  Madame  Alexandrine-Caroline,  nee 
Chevalier  de  Lavit  (b.  Cap-Francais  1780; 
d.  Paris  1850).  Leading  French  soprano  of 
the  Op6ra  1804-26;  a  pupil  of  the  Conserva 
toire,  she  made  her  debut  at  the  Theatre 
Feydeauinl799;192. 

Brienne,  Madame  de;  463. 

Britannicus  (tragedy).   See  Racine. 

Brosses,  le  President  Charles  de  (1709-1777). 
One  of  the  wittiest  minor  writers  of  the 
XVmth  century.  Best  known  by  his  Lettres 
historiques  et  critiques  sur  Vltalie  (Paris, 
3  vols.,  an  VII)  and  his  Histoire  des  Navi 
gations  aux  terres  australes  (Paris,  2  vols., 
1756).  See  Borghese;  135,  182. 

Broussonnet,  Professor  Pierre-Marie-Auguste 
(1761-1807).  A  leading  light  of  the  famous 
medical  school  at  Montpelier.  He  was  also  an 
agricultural  innovator,  and  introduced  the 
first  flock  of  merino  sheep  into  France;  455. 

Brutus  (tragedy).  See  Voltaire. 

Buchon,  Jean-Alexandre  (b.  Menetou-Salon 
1791;  d.  Paris  1846).  French  journalist  and 
historian;  liberal  politician;  editor  of  le 
Censeur  and  la  Renommee.  Arrested  in  the 
disturbances  of  1820.  One  of  the  earliest 
great  French  mediaevalists;  87. 

Buffardin,  Mademoiselle.  A  singer  at  the 
Theatre  Louvois;  420. 

Buffon,  Georges-Louis  Leclerc  de  (1707-1788), 
born  at  Montbard,  north  of  Dijon.  French 
naturalist,  philosopher  and  writer.  His  great 
work  was  the  Histoire  Naturelle  (1749-1789); 
135,  270. 

Bulletins  de  VArmee  d'Espagne;  9,  91. 

Buonsignori,  Signorina.  Singer  engaged  at  the 
Theatre  Louvois;  417. 

Buranello,  il.  See  Galuppi. 

Buratti,  Pietro  (b.  Venice  1772;  d.  Treyiso 
1832).  Venetian  dialect-poet  and  song-writer, 
satirist  and  patriot.  Arrested  in  1813  for  a 
violent  protest  against  the  blockade  of 
Venice.  Among  his  songs,  la  Biondina  in 
Gondoletta  achieved  wide  fame.  Of  his 
satires,  VElejante  (1819)  was  the  best  known, 
and  earned  him  three  months  in  prison. 
Others  include  la  Streffeide  and  rUomo.  See 
V.  Malamani,  II  Principe  dei  Satirici  Vene- 
Ziani,  P. Swart/ (1887);  60, 106, 110, 192,432. 


Burckhardt:  Johannis  Burchardus  of  Strasburg, 
Bishop  of  Orta  and  Civita  Castellana:  author 
of  the  Diarium  loannis  Burchardi,  Argentin- 
ensis,  capellae  Alexandri  VI  Papae  ceremoni- 
arum  magistri  (various  editions  from  1697); 
188. 

Burney,  Charles,  Mus.  Doc.  (1J26-1814). 
English  organist,  composer  and  writer,  and  a 
pupil  of  Dr  Arne.  The  General  History  of 
Music  appeared  in  4  vols.  between  1776  and 
1789.  The  4th  vol.  in  particular  is  of  interest 
in  the  history  of  Italian  opera;  11. 

Burns,  Robert  (1759-1796).  Scots  poet,  born  at 
Alloway,  Ayrshire.  Burns's  poems,  and  not 
ably  the  ballads,  enjoyed  great  esteem  among 
the  French  romantics;  263,  455. 

Byron,  George  Gordon,  Lord  (1788-1824). 
English  poet  who,  together  with  Walter 
Scott,  was  one  of  the  greatest  idols  of  the 
romantic  revolutionaries.  Don  Juan  was 
published  between  1819  and  1824;  300,  391, 
456. 

Cabanis,  Pierre-Jean-Georges  (1757-1808). 
French  doctor  and  philosopher.  A  disciple  of 
Condillac  and  a  friend  of  Mirabeau,  Cabanis 
was  the  leader  of  the  physiological-material 
ist  group  which  called  itself  les  Ideologues. 
His  major  work  is  a  treatise  entitled  Des 
Rapports  du  Physique  et  du  Moral  de 
rHomme  (Paris,  2  vols.,  1802);  49. 

Caesar,  Julius.  Roman  general  and  dictator; 

Caigniez,  Louis-Charles,  (b.  Arras  1762;  d. 
1842).  Popular  French  dramatist  and 
librettist.  His  works  are  mainly  melodramas 
in  the  style  of  Pixer6court.  His  greatest 
success  (written  with  Daubigny)  was  La  Pie 
Voleuse.  ou  la  Servante  de  Palaiseau,  "m61o- 
drame  historique"  in  3  acts,  with  music  by 
Piccini.  This  work  is  the  basis  of  la  Gazza 
ladra;  258. 

Galas,  Jean  (1698-1762).  A  merchant  of  Tou 
louse,  who  was  condemned  to  death  on  a 
trumped-up  charge  by  the  Parlement  in  1762, 
and  executed.  Voltaire  shook  the  whole 
French  legal  system  by  his  vitriolic  denunci 
ation  of  this  injustice;  441. 

Galas  (melodrama).  3  acts  in  prose,  by 
Ducange  and  Varez.  Theatre  de  rAmbigu- 
Comique,  20th  Nov.  1819;  258. 

Calderara,  il  Marchese.  One  of  the  adminis 
trators  of  la  Scala,  Milan;  424. 

Calzolafa,  la  (ballet).  See  Vigand. 

CAMBIALE  DI  MATRiMONio,  LA,  opera  (f^a)  by 
Rossini.  Libretto  by  Gaetano  Rossi,librettist 
of  the  San-Mose,  Venice.  Performed  at  the 
San-Mose,  3rd  November  1810.  Rossini's 
first  performed  opera;  46,  328,  409-410. 

Camilla  (opera).  See  PaeY. 

Campan,  Madame  Jeanne-Louise-Hennette 
Genest  (1752-1822).  Lady-in-waiting  to 
Marie-Antoinette.  Later  in  life,  she  became  a 
well-known  educationalist  and  principal  of 
an  Institute  at  Ecouen.  Author  of  the  well- 
known  Mimoires  sur  la  Vie  privee  de  Marie 
Antoinette  (3  vols.,  Paris  1822);  199. 

Campitelli,  Signor.  Italian  singer,  one  of  the 
original  performers  in  Rossini's  cantata  il 
Vero  Omaggio;  415. 

Camporese  (Camporesi),  Signora  Violante 
(1785-1839).  A  well-known  soprano,  origin 
ally  an  amateur,  later  a  professional,  A  pupil 
of  Crescentini,  she  was  a  friend  of  Paer,  and 
at  one  time  gave  private  concerts  for  Napo 
leon.  From  1816  to  1824  she  sang  mainly  at 


496 


LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 


la  Scala  and  at  the  King's  Theatre.  Her 
reputation  was  made  in  operas  by  Mozart, 
Paer,  and  in  Rossini's  Otello  and  la  Gazza 
ladra;  357,  386,  387,  413. 
Candide,  ou  V  Optimisms  (philosophical  novel). 

See  Voltaire. 

Canonica,  Luigi  (b.  Tesserete  1762;  d.  Milan 
1844).  Italian  architect,  a  pupil  of  Pier- 
marmi.  His  main  work  was  in  Milan,  where 
he  built  the  Great  Arena,  the  Royal  Palace, 
the  Villa  Bonaparte  and  the  Teatro  Carcano. 
His  other  theatres  include  those  at  Brescia, 
Cremona,  Modena,  Sondrio  and  Genoa;  429. 
Canonici,  Graciata.  Italian  soprano,  a  leading 
light  of  the  Teatro  dei  Fiorentini  (Naples). 
A  member  of  the  original  cast  of  Rossini's 
rOccasionefa  il  Ladro;  410. 
Canova,  Antonio  (1757-1822).  Italian  sculptor, 
born  at  Possagno.  His  reputation  to-day  is 
perhaps  less  exalted  than  Stendhal  would 
have  wished;  his  works,  nevertheless,  are  of 
entrancing  grace  and  sweetness.  See  Ugo 
Ojetti,  "Canova  e  Stendhal",  in  Dedalo, 
Rassegna  d'Arte,  October  1922,  p.  307;  8,  41, 
51,  108,  185,  240,  283,  317,  320,  321,  322, 
369,  407,  430,  431. 

Venus  and  Adonis  (sculptural  group). 
Made  for  Berio  di  Salsa  in  1794.  In 
1820,  it  passed  into  the  hands  of  Col. 
Guillaume  Fabre;  322. 

Cantarelli,  Maria.  Italian  singer,  prima  donna 
in  the  original  production  of  Rossini's  la 
Scala  diSeta  (Venice  1812);  410. 
Caracciolo  (Caraccioli),  Francesco.  Italian 
admiral,  descendant  of  a  very  ancient  Italian 
family  which  originated  with  Giovanni 
Caracciolo,  favourite  of  Jeanne  II,  Queen  of 
Naples,  and  assassinated  in  1432.  Admiral 
Caracciolo  was  hanged  by  Nelson  on  29th 
June  1799  in  cruel  and  degrading  circum 
stances;  399. 

Carafa  (Caraffa),  Michele  Enrico  C.  di  Colo- 
brano  (b.  Naples  1787;  d.  1872).     Italian 
composer  who  lived  mainly  in  Paris  and 
studied  under  Cherubini.  Like  Stendhal,  he 
experienced  the  Retreat  from  Moscow.  At 
the  height  of  his  fame  (1822-35)  his  popular 
ity  rivalled  that  of  Rossini  and  Auber.  F61ix 
Clement  (Dictionnaire  Lyrique)  lists  some  35 
operas,  of  which  the  best  known  were  Le 
Solitaire  (1822)  and  Masaniello  (1828);  120, 
165,  171,  213,  415,  425,  432. 
Other  works  include: 
Abu  far  (Vienna,  1823);  171. 
Elisabeth  in  Derbishire  (Venice,  26th  Dec. 

1818);  432. 

Gabriella  di  Vergy  (Naples,  Teatro  del 
Fondo,  3rd  July  1816);  165,  213,  415, 
425. 

Carbonari  ("the  charcoal-burners"},  so-called 
because  their  early  meetings  took  place  in  the 
heart  of  the  forests:  a  secret  society  with  wide 
political  influence,  whose  aims  were  the 
unification  of  Italy  and  the  diffusion  of 
liberal  ideas;  110,  260,  280,  432,  443,  444. 
Carli-Rubbi,  Count  Giovanni-Rinaldo  (b.  Capo 
d'Istria  1720;  d.  Milan  1795).  Italian  amateur 
scientist,  economist  and  musicologist.  Known 
in  music  for  his  Osservazioni  sulla  musica 
antica  e  moderna  (Complete  Works,  vol.  xiv, 
Milan  1784-90);  196. 

Carnot,  Lazare-Nicolas-Margu6rite(1753-l  823). 
Mathematician,  War-Minister  under  Robes 
pierre  in  the  Committee  of  Public  Safety,  and 
organizer  of  the  famous  "14  armies"  of  the 
Republic.  Known  as  "rorganisateur  de  la 


Victoire,"  Carnot  built  up  the  military 
machine  which  Napoleon  was  to  exploit;  204. 

Caroleide,  la:  Charlemagne,  ou  la  Caroleide, 
poeme  epique  en  24  chants,  by  vicomte  Charles 
d'Arlincourt,  1818;  204. 

Caroline,  Queen:  Maria-Carolina  of  Austria, 
wife  of  Ferdinando  di  Borbone,  King  of  the 
Two  Sicilies  (Ferdinand  IV  of  Naples, 
Ferdinand  III  of  Sicily).  A  remarkably 
strong-willed  princess,  who  was  admitted  to 
full  deliberative  membership  of  the  Neapol 
itan  State  Council  in  1775,  and  thereafter  ex 
ercised  a  marked  influence  on  state  affairs.  See 
M.  Schipa,  Come  Maria-Carolina  d* Austria 
venne  a  regnare  a  Napoli,  Rome  1922;  3,  443. 

Caron,  M.  de.  See  Beaumarchais. 

Casaccia,  Carlo.  Popular  Neapolitan  singer; 
member  of  the  original  cast  of  Rossini's 
la  Gazzetta.  Descendant  of  a  long  line  of 
Neapolitan  actors;  412,  449. 

Castelbarco,  count  Cesare  di.  Milanese  aristo 
crat,  amateur  composer  and  patron  of  music. 
One  of  the  administrators  of  la  Scala.  See 
R.  Catterina,  J  Signori  di  Castelbarco 
(Camerino,  1900);  424. 

Castil-Blaze,  Francois-Henri-Joseph  (b.  Cav- 
aillon  1784;  d.  Paris  1857).  French  lawyer 
and  amateur  musician,  later  a  famous  music- 
critic.  He  was  critic  of  the  Journal  des  Debats, 
and  one  of  Rossini's  earliest  French  admirers. 
Known  for  his  Dictionnaire  de  la  Musique 
Moderns  (2  vols.,  1821);  181,  203,  204. 

Catalani,  Signora  Angelica  (1780-1849).  A 
well-known  soprano,  and  one  of  the  greatest 
operatic  tyrants  of  all  time.  She  trained  under 
Marchese  and  Crescentini,  made  her  debut 
in  Mayr's  Lodoiska  at  la  Fenice  in  1795,  and 
toured  Europe  until  1813.  In  that  year,  she 
became  directress  of  the  Thdatre  Louvois; 
and  her  avarice  was  almost  alone  responsible 
for  the  dire  state  of  affairs  in  that  theatre 
which  Stendhal  so  deplores;  326,  357,  412. 

Catherine  the  Great,  Empress  of  Russia,  origin 
ally  Duchess  of  Anhalt-Zerbst  (b.  Stettin 
1729;  d.  St  Petersburg  1796).  One  of  the 
most  despotic  monarchs  in  Europe,  but  a 
great  patron  of  the  arts  and  sciences;  467. 

Cavaiola,  la.  Neapolitan  folk-song,  the 
"national  anthem"  of  Naples;  6. 

Cecconi,  Signorina.  A  minor  singer  at  the  San- 
Carlo,  member  of  the  original  cast  of 
Zelmira;  414. 

Cellini,  Benvenuto  (1500-1571).  Italian  sculp 
tor,  engraver  and  goldsmith,  born  in 
Florence.  His  Autobiography  (which  re 
mained  in  MS.  until  1728)  is  one  of  the  most 
entertaining  collections  of  reminiscences  ever 
written;  232. 

CENERENTOLA,  LA,  OSSia  LA  BONTA  IN  TRIONFO. 

Opera  by  Rossini  in  two  acts,  libretto  by 
Ferretti.  Two  arie  del  sorbetto  by  Agolini. 
First  given  in  Rome,  at  the  Teatro  della  Valle, 
on  25th  January  1817;  164,  167,  182,  194, 
234-253,  412. 

Cento  Novelle  (moral  stories).  See  Giraldi. 

C'estl' amour,  I' amour  (popular  ballad);  29, 109* 

Chabran  (?  Chiabran),  Margherita.  Italian 
singer,  a  pupil  of  Pellegrini,  who  was  in 
Naples  in  1816,  and  took  part  in  the  first 
performances  of  la  Gazzetta  and  Teti  e  Peleo; 
412,  414. 

Champmesl6  (Marie  Desmares,  known  as  La 
C.)  (1642-1698).  Famous  French  actress  of 
the  XVII  century,  who  created  the  leading 
roles  in  several  of  Racine's  tragedies;  299. 


INDEX  AND  TABLE  OF  REFERENCES 


497 


Chant  du  Depart,  le.  One  of  the  great  songs  of  the 
Revolution.  Words  by  Marie- Joseph  Chenier, 
music  probably  by  Mehul  (1794);  10. 

Charles  II  (1630-1685).  King  of  England  from 
1660;  274. 

Charles  VI  (1685-1740).  Habsburg  Emperor 
from  1711,  second  son  of  Leopold  I,  and 
father  of  Maria-Theresa;  250. 

Chateaubriand,  Vicomte  >  Francois-Ren6  de 
(1768-1848).  One  of  the  greatest  French 
prose-writers  of  the  Romantic  period;  also  a 
major  political  figure  in  his  time.  Best  known 
to-day  for  his  Memoir es  d'Outre-Tombe;  in 
their  time,  his  Atala  (1801)  and  Reni  (1805) 
had  a  vast  success;  87. 

Chaumel,  Mademoiselle.  See  Comelli.la. 

Chauvel,  Monsieur.  A  friend  of  Napoleon;  376. 

Chenier,  Marie-Jpseph-Blaise  de  (1764-1811). 
French  dramatist,  journalist  and  politician, 
and  brother  of  the  celebrated  poet.  An  ardent 
Jacobin  during  the  Revolution,  Chenier  was 
elected  deputy  to  the  Convention  by  the 
people  of  Versailles;  171.  His  works  include: 

Tibere  (tragedy,  1809);  171. 
See  also :  Le  Chant  du  Depart. 

Cherubini,  Maria  Luigi  Carlo  Zenobio  Salva- 
tore  (b.  Florence  1760;  d.  Paris  1842). 
Italian  composer,  later  naturalized  French. 
Director  of  the  Conservatoire  from  1822,  and 
one  of  the  greatest  teachers  of  his  time. 
Though  not  primarily  a  composer  of  opera, 
he  has  a  number  to  his  credit,  including 
Lodoiska  (1791s);  Medee  (1797);  Faniska 
(1806)  and  Les  Abencerages  (1813);  7,  23, 
58,  126,  397. 

Chigi-Albani,  Prince  Agostino  (1771-1855); 
Roman  aristocrat,  art-patron  and  diarist;  95. 

Choron,  Alexandre  Etienne  (1772-1834). 
French  scholar,  mathematician,  linguist, 
composer,  etc.,  whose  writings  and  whose 
school  (r  Institution  Royale  de  Musique 
Classique  et  Religieuse,  1824-1830)  exercised  a 
considerable  influence  on  French  music.  He 
wrote  an  Introduction  a  I'etude  generate  et 
raisonnee  de  la  musique;  181,  424. 

Cicero,  Marcus  Tullius  (106-43  B.C.).  Roman 
poet,  philosopher  and  stylist;  175,  197. 

Cicimarro,  Signer.  A  member  of  the  San-Carlo 
company  under  Barbaja,  who  took  part  in 
the  premieres  of  Otello,  Armida  and  Mose; 
412,  413. 

Cimarosa,  Domenico  (b.  Aversa  1749;  d. 
Venice  1801).  Major  Italian  composer  of  the 
XVIJJth  century,  studied  under  Sacchini  and 
Piccinni  and  made  his  debut  with  Le  Strava- 
ganze  del  Conte  in  Naples  in  1772.  His 
brilliantly  successful  career  took  him  to 
St  Petersburg  and  Vienna;  but  he  was 
politically  unwise  in  welcoming  the  repub 
lican  French  armies  in  1799,  and  condemned 
to  death.  He  was  reprieved,  but  died  immedi 
ately  after  his  release  from  prison;  3,  4,  11, 
12,  16,  17,  19,  20,  21,  22,  25,  27,  33,  34,  35, 
37,  38,  39,  48,  49,  51,  60,  65,  73,  74,  75,  77, 
93,  97,  118,  120,  136,  140,  144,  175,  176, 
177,  181,  182,  185,  187,  189,  190,  191,  196, 
236,  237,  238,  240,  242,  245,  264,  275,  290, 
307,  364,  391,  397,  398,  401,  407,  415,  431, 
446. 
His  works  include: 

//  Matrimonio  segreto  (2  acts;  libretto  by 
G.  Bertati,  based  on  comedy  by  G. 
Colman  and  IX  Garrick;  Vienna,  Burg 
Theatre,  7th  Feb.  1792);  3,  118,  123, 
176,  177,  182,  183,  185,  190,  245,  341, 
392,  394,  395,  447. 


I  Nemici  generosi,  ossia  II  Duello  per 
Complimento  (libretto  by  Petrosellini; 
Rome,  Valle  Theatre,  26th  Dec.  1795); 
39,  93, 

Gli  Orazii  e  Curiazii  (libretto  by  A.  S.  So- 
grafi;  Venice,  la  Fenice,  26th  Dec.  1796); 
38,  51,  181,  290,  354,  355,  358,  364,  385, 
407,  439. 

IlSacrifizio  d*Abramo  ("Oratorio";  17&6); 
19. 

Cinderella  (opera).  See  Etienne.  La  Cenerentola. 

Cinthio,  G.  B.  Giraldi.  See  Giraldi. 

Cinti,  Mademoiselle  (i.e.,  Laure  Cinthie 
Damoreau,  nee  Montalant)  (1801-1863). 
A  famous  French  soprano,  whose  reputation 
was  still  to  be  made  in  1823.  Her  first  engage 
ment  at  the  Louvois  was  in  1819;  but  by 
1826  she  was  at  the  height  of  her  fame,  and  it 
was  for  her  that  Rossini  wrote  le  Siege  de 
Corinthe  and  Mofse.  She  also  contributed 
greatly  to  the  success  of  Le  Comte  Ory.  Auber 
wrote  many  rdles  for  her.  She  retired  in  1 843 ; 
186,  266,  417,  420. 

GIRO  IN  BABILONIA.  "Oratorio"  by  Rossini. 
Libretto  by  "a  Ferrarese  amateur".  Per 
formed  Ferrara,  Lent  1812;  47,  328, 409,  410. 

Clarissa  Harlowe  (novel).    See  Richardson. 

Clarke,  Mrs.  See  Passavant. 

Claude  Lorrain  (Claude  Gelee,  known  as  Le 
Lorrairi)  (1600-1682).  French  landscape 
painter,  one  of  the  greatest  French  masters  of 
the  XVIIth  century;  86. 

Clemenza  di  Tito,  la  (opera).  See  Mozart. 

Clermont,  Louis  de  Bourbon-Cond6,  comte  de 
(1709-1770).  French  general,  who  received 
his  first  commission  in  1733.  His  early  cam 
paigns  were  in  Germany  and  Holland;  he 
was  at  Fontenoy,  and  later  besieged  Namur 
and  Antwerp.  But  he  is  best  remembered  for 
his  disastrous  defeat  in  1758  at  Krefeldt,  by 
Ferdinand  of  Brunswick;  199. 

Clotilde  (ballet).   See  Vigand. 

Clytemnestre  (tragedy).   See  Soumet. 

Coccia,  Carlo  (1782-1873).  Neapolitan  com 
poser,  pupil  of  Fenarola  and  Paisiello,  Debut 
in  1808  with  II  Matrimonio  per  Cambiale; 
between  this  date  and  1819,  he  wrote  22 
operas,  of  which  the  most  successful  was 
Clotilde  (1815).  Later  he  was  the  first 
Professor  of  Composition  at  the  Royal 
Academy  of  Music  in  London;  26. 

Coin  de  Rue  (Ie°),  ou  Le  Rempailleur  de  Chaises. 
Vaudeville  in  1  act,  by  Brazier  and  Dumer- 
san,  Theatre  des  Varietes,  24th  January  1820; 
242 

Colbert,  Jean-Baptiste  (161 9-1 683). .  .  French 
statesman  and  administrator,  Minister  of 
Finance  under  Louis  XTV;  437. 

Colbran  (Colbrand),  Isabella-Angela,  later 
SignoraColbran-Rossini(1785-1845).Daugh- 
ter  of  Gianini  Colbran,  Court  Musician 
to  the  King  of  Spam.  Taught  by  Marinelli 
and  Crescentini,  she  was  perhaps  the  finest 
coloratura  soprano  in  Europe  from  1801- 
1822.  Her  voice  began  to  weaken  in  1815,  but 
not  the  extent  described  by  Stendhal.  When 
it  did  in  fact  break  down,  she  left  the  stage 
(1824).  She  was  married  to  Rossini  on  15th 
March  1822,  and  separated  from  him  in 
1836-7;  149, 150, 151, 152, 154, 157, 158, 159, 
160,  162,  163,  165,  166,  167,  186,  221,  222, 
226  311,  316,  331,  332,  333,  341,  348,  354, 
356,  361,  377,  379,  380,  382,  383,  394,  400, 
406,  412, 413,  414, 415,  442, 443,  444. 

Coll6,  Charles  (1709-1783).  French  song 
writer  and  dramatist  of  some  repute,  best 


498 


LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 


known  for  his  comedy,  la  Partie  de  Chasse 
<&r  Henri  7P  (1766);  203. 

Comidien  d'Etampes,  le  (comedy-vaudeville  in 
1  act)  by  Moreau  and  Sewrin.  Gymnase- 
Dramatique,  23rd  June  1821;  236. 

Comediens,  les  (comedy  in  5  acts)  by  Casimir 
Delavigne.  Theatre  de  I'O&on,  6th  January 
1820;  86. 

Comelli,  la  (Mademoiselle  Chaumel).  French 
soprano  who  was  engaged  at  the  San-Carlo. 
Trained  at  the  Conservatoire,  she  early 
abandoned  her  career  to  marry  the  celebrated 
tenor,  Giambattista  Rubini;  151,  388,  389, 
413,  415. 

Comte,  Francois-Charles-Louis  (b.  Sainte 
Enimie  1782;  d.  Paris  1837).  A  lawyer  by 
training,  he  and  Dunoyer  founded  Le  Censeur 
in  1814,  which  was  to  become  one  of  the 
major  organs  of  "liberal"  thought.  Stendhal's 
reference  to  him  deliberately  suggests  another 
contemporary  of  the  same  name,  Louis- 
Christian  Comte,  (1788-1859)  a  celebrated 
conjurer;  309. 

Confessions,  les.  See  Rousseau,  J.-J. 

Consalvi,  Cardinal  Ercole  (1757-1824).  Roman 
politician  and  administrator,  chief  Minister 
to  Pope  Pius  VII.  A  skilled  and  subtle 
diplomat  who  was  largely  responsible  for 
negotiating  the  Concordat  with  Napoleon 
(1801);  187,  276,  431. 

Conservatoire  (de  Paris).  Founded  by  Decree 
of  the  Convention,  3rd  Aug.  1795;  re 
organized  in  1800  and  again  in  1812.  Its  early 
directors  included:  Sarrette  (1795-1815); 
Cherubini  (1822-1842);  Auber  (1842-1871); 
99,  100,  124,  126,  128,  131,  182,  254,  289, 
315,  324,  345,  391,  397,  424. 

Constant  de  Rebecque,  Benjamin  (1767-1830). 
French  politician  and  writer.  A  proteg6  of 
Mme  de  Stael,  his  political  training  took 
place  under  the  Directoire;  after  the  fall  of 
Napoleon,  he  became  a  leader  of  the  liberal 
party.  As  a  writer,  he  is  best  known  for  his 
ultra-romantic  novel,  Adolphe;  87. 

Constitutionnel,  le  {Journal  de  Commerce, 
politigue  et  litteraire).  Originally  founded  by 
the  ex-Jacobin  Gemond  (1815)  as  Vlndtpen- 
dant,  it  finally  took  its  famous  title,  le 
Constitutional  in  1819;  later  it  was  to 
become  generally  celebrated  as  the  vehicle  of 
Sainte-Beuve's  Causeries  du  Lundi;  405. 

Conte  diCarmagnola,  //(tragedy).  See  Manzoni. 

Contes  Moraux.  See  Marmontel. 

Cora  (opera).  See  Mayr:  Alonzo  e  Cora. 

Coriolan  (ballet).  See  Vigan6. 

Corneille,  Pierre  (1606-1684).  The  noblest 
French  dramatist  and  the  true  father  of 
French  classical  tragedy.  His  works  include: 
Midee  (1635);  Horace  (1641);  Polyeucte 
(1641-3);  Nicomede  (1651).  In  later  life,  he 
wrote  a  series  of  critical  Examens  of  his  own 
plays:  the  Examen  de  Nicomede  was  pub 
lished  in  1660;  99,  183,  224,  257,  337, 

Corradino  (opera).  See  Pavesi. 

Correa  (Corea),  Lorenza  (b.  Lisbon  1771). 
Portuguese  soprano,  pupil  of  Pareja.  D&but 
in  Madrid  in  1790;  in  Venice,  1792.  She  sang 
mainlv  in  Naples  and  Paris;  131,  411. 

Correggio,  Antonio  Allegri  di  (1494-1534). 
Italian  painter  greatly  admired  by  Stendhal. 
His  finest  frescoes  are  to  be  seen  in  Parma; 
4,  170,  263,  309,  369,  393,  407,  446,  469. 

Correspondance  de  NapoUon.    See  Bonaparte, 

Corsaire,  le  (Journal  des  Spectacles,  de  la 
Literature,  des  Arts,  Moeurs  et  Modes).  A 


satirical  journal  of  somewhat  spasmodic 
popularity  which  flourished  between  1822 
and  1852;  372. 

Corso,  Teatro  del  (Bologna).  See  Theatres. 

Cortesl,  Carolina.  Italian  contralto,  better 
renowned  for  her  beauty  than  for  her  voice. 
Member  of  the  original  cast  of  Eduardo  e 
Cristina;  413. 

Cost  fan  Tutte,  ossia  La  Scuola  degli  Amanti 
(opera).  See  Mozart. 

Cosmo  the  Great  (Cosimo  I,  Grand-Duke  of 
Tuscany,  Duke  of  Florence)  (1519-1574). 
Ascended  the  throne  of  Florence  after  ^the 
murder,  of  Alessandro  Medici  by  Lorenzino. 
One  of  the  most  magnificent,  ruthless  and 
efficient  tyrants  of  all  times,  he  died  peace 
fully  in  1574;  446. 

Cotugno  (Cottugno),  Domenico  (b.  Ruvo  di 
Puglia  1736;  d.  Naples  1822).  Italian  patriot 
and  doctor,  pioneer  of  public  hygiene  and 
preventive  medicine,  especially  against 
tuberculosis;  13,  14. 

Coulon,  M.  Ballet-dancer.  He  took  leading 
rdles  in  London  from  1821-1825;  205. 

Courier  de  Mere,  Paul-Louis  (1772-1825). 
French  classical  scholar  and  satirist,  author 
of  brilliant  and  witty  pamphlets  against  the 
government  of  the  restoration.  He  was  a 
pioneer  of  XlXth  century  classical  scholar 
ship:  his  Prospectus  d'une  traduction  nouvelle 
d*H6rodote,  contenant  un  Fragment  du  Livre 
///  et  la  Preface  du  Traducteur  (Paris  1822) 
created  a  considerable  stir.  Courier  was 
murdered  by  his  gamekeeper  in  1825.  See 
Furia;  199,  445,  447. 

Court  Theatre,  Turin.  See  Theatres,  Teatro 
Regio. 

Cousin,  Victor  (1792-1867).  French  writer, 
philosopher,  politician  and  scholar.  His 
works  include  a  major  edition  of  Plato, 
which  was  finally  completed  in  13  volumes  in 
1840;  126. 

Crabbe,  George  (1754-1832).  English  poet, 
whose  greatest  works  are  inspired  by  the 
suffering  and  degradation  of  the  poorer 
classes.  Born  at  Aldeborough;  263. 

Cratarol.  See  Gratarol. 

Creation,  The  (oratorio).  See  Haydn. 

Crebillon,  Claude  ("Crebillon  fils":  1707- 
1777).  French  novelist,  son  of  the  dramatist 
Prosper  Crebillon.  Like  many  of  his  con 
temporaries,  Crebillon  is  a  master  of  prose 
style,  and  his  works  would  enjoy  a  wider 
reputation  were  it  not  for  the  licentiousness 
of  his  subject-matter;  185. 

Crebillon,  Prosper  ("Crebillon  pere":  1674- 
1762),  French  tragic  dramatist,  born  at 
Dijon.  His  plays,  together  with  those  of 
Voltaire,  represent  the  transition  from  clas 
sical  tragedy  to  pre-romantic  melodrama. 
Rhadamisthe  et  Zenobie  (1711),  Atr&e  et 
Thyeste,  etc.,  are  still  very  occasionally 
revived;  135. 

Crescentini,  Girolamo  (b.  Urbania  1766; 
d.  1846).  One  of  the  greatest  of  Italian  male 
mezzo-soprani,  and  the  last  representative  of 
the  old  tradition.  After  his  debut  in  Rome  in 
1783,  he  sang  in  Leghorn,  Padua,  Venice, 
Turin,  Naples,  London,  Lisbon  (1798-1801) 
and  Paris  (1806-1812).  Cimarosa  composed 
his  Gli  Orazii  for  bis  voice;  but  his  greatest 
rdle  was  as  Romeo  in  Zingarelli's  Romeo  e 
Giuliettai  131,  326,  344,  376. 

Crivelli,  Gaetano  (b.  Bergamo  1774;  d.  1836). 
A  well-known  tenor,  who  had  been  a  pupil  of 
Aprile.  His  talents  as  an  actor  matched  the 


INDEX  AND  TABLE  OF  REFERENCES 


499 


quality  of  his  voice.  He  made  his  debut  at 
Brescia  in  1793;  and  in  1811,  he  succeeded 
Garcia  at  the  Louvois,  where  he  remained 
until  1817;  112,  130,  350,  415,  432. 

Cuisinieres,  les  (comedy  in  1  act)  by  Brazier  and 
Dumersan.  Theatre  des  Variety  14th  April 
1823;  253. 

Curioni,  Alberico  (b.  about  1790).  A  distin 
guished  tenor,  reputed  to  have  been  the 
handsomest  man  on  the  Italian  stage.  He 
sang  at  the  San-Carlo,  and  later  in  Barcelona 
and  London  (1821),  and  appeared  in  several 
of  Rossini's  operas,  notably  Otello,  la  Donna 
del  Logo  and  Pietro  I'Eremita  (A4os£);  426. 

Cymbeline  (play).  See  Shakespeare. 

Daguerre,  Louis-Jacques-Mand6  (1787-1851). 
French  artist,  stage-designer  and  inventor. 
He  created  the  diorama,  and  put  the  finishing 
touches  to  that  process  of  photographic  re 
production  (originally  invented  by  the 
chemist  Nicephore  Niepce)  which  now  bears 
his  name:  the  daguerreotype:  422. 

Dalayrac,  Nicolas  (b.  Muret  1753;  d.  1809J). 
French  composer  of  comic  operas,  who  made 
his  reputation  with  Le  Petit  Souper  in  1781. 
During  the  next  25  years,  he  produced  56 
popular  operas,  none  of  which,  however, 
have  survived  in  the  modern  repertoire.  His 
best  works  include  r Eclipse  totale  (1782); 
le  Corsaire  (1783);  Nina  (1786)  and  Ambroise 
(1793).  He  is  rightly  considered  the  father  of 
the  French  comic  opera  tradition  of  the 
XDCth  century;  19,  22,  76. 

Dante  Aligbieri  (1265-1321).  The  greatest 
Italian  poet,  born  in  Florence,  but  by  no 
means  wholly  devoted  to  poetry,  for  he 
figured  largely  in  the  political  life  of  his  time, 
and  was  finally  exiled  in  1302,  living  the  rest 
of  his  life  in  Verona  and  Ravenna;  8,  63, 
193,  226. 

Danton,  Georges-Jacques  (b.  Arcis-sur-Aube, 
1759;  guillotined,  Paris,  1794).  One  of  the 
greatest,  and  certainly  the  most  attractive,  of 
the  leaders  of  la  Montagne.  His  creations 
include  the  Club  des  Cordeliers,  the  Tribunal 
r&volutionnaire  and  the  Comiti  de  Salut 
Public.  His  quarrel  with  the  intractable 
Robespierre  led  eventually  to  the  death  of 
both  these  notable  leaders,  and  to  the  failure 
of  the  Revolution;  293. 

Dardanelli,  Girolama.  Italian  prima  donna 
buffa,  a  member  of  the  original  cast  of 
Elisabetta  and  of  the  cantata  Teti  e  Peleo 
(Naples,  1815  and  1816);  155,  412,  414, 
426. 

Daru,  Baron  Martial-Noel-Pierre  (b.  Mont- 
pellier;  d.  Paris  1827);  Another  of  Napoleon's 
great  administrators,  Martial  Daru  became 
Intendant  des  JBiens  de  la  Couronne  in  Italy  in 
1811,  and  was  largely  responsible  for  the 
reconstruction  of  Rome;  430. 

Daru,  Comte  Pierre-Antoine-No81-Bruno  (b. 
MontpelHer  1767;  d.  Paris  1829).  French 
administrator,  civil  servant  and  writer.  Pierre 
Daru  was  a  cousin  of  Stendhal;  he  was  also 
one  of  Napoleon's  most  efficient  Intendants. 
His  main  work,  the  Histoire  de  la  Republujue 
de  Venise,  was  published  in  1819;  69. 

Daubigny  (d'Aubigny),  Theodore  Baudouin. 
French  popular  dramatist,  author  of  farces 
and  melodramas.  Co-operated  with  Caigniez 
in  writing  the  original  version  of  la  Gazza 
ladra  (see  Caigniez);  258. 

David,  Louis  (1748-1825).  French  painter, 
politician  and  revolutionary.  Under  Robes 


pierre,  David  was  a  sort  of  "Minister  of  Fine 
Ajrts";  later  he  became  court  painter  to 
Napoleon;  but  at  the  Restoration,  he  was 
exiled  and  died  in  Brussels;  439. 

Davide,  Giacomo  (1750-1830).  One  of  the 
finest  Italian  tenors  of  the  XVHIth  century, 
the  elder  Davide  was  born  in  Bergamo,  and 
studied  under  Sala.  He  was  the  perfect 
master  of  "controlled  fioriture",  and  sang 
with  tremendous  success  throughout  Europe. 
He  was  still  singing  well  in  Florence  in  1802. 
His  greatest  pupils  were  his  son  Giovanni 
and  Nozzari;  320. 

Davide,  Giovanni  (1789-1851).  A  prodigious 
Italian  tenor  with  a  range  of  3  octaves  to  Bfr. 
Trained  by  his  father,  he  made  his  debut  at 
Brescia  in  1810.  Rossini  wrote  parts  for  him 
in  il  Turco,  Otello,  Ricciardo  and  la  Donna. 
His  voice  began  to  go  in  1825,  and  he  died  as 
manager  of  the  opera-house  in  St  Petersburg; 
72,  104,  113,  129,  144,  165,  68,  188,  195,  205, 
220,  221,  222,  223,  225,  255,  256,  320,  323, 
332,  354,  366,  377,  379,  380,  383,  411,  412, 
413,  414,  426. 

De'  Amicis,  Anna  Lucia  (b.  Naples  c.  1740; 
d.  c.  1800).  A  famous  XVHIth  century 
soprano,  who  began  her  career  in  opera 
buffa ,  but  later  changed  to  opera  seria  under 
the  influence  of  J.-C.  Bach.  She  was  a 
member  of  the  original  cast  of  Mozart's 
Lucio  Silla  in  Milan  in  1773;  318,  341. 

De*  Angelis,  Alessandro.  A  member  of  the 
original  cast  of  Rossini's  Bianco,  de'  Angelis 
came  from  a  famous  Neapolitan  family  of 
artists  and  actors,  one  member  of  which, 
Pietro  (1784-1859),  was  the  first  major  his 
torian  of  the  Argentine;  413. 

Debats  (periodical).  See  Journal  des  Debats. 

De'  Begnis,  Claudine,  nee  Ronzi  (b.  Paris  1800; 
retired  1843).  A  not  unsuccessful  prima 
donna  buffa,  a  pupil  of  Garat,  who  made  her 
debut  in  Genoa  in  1817,  and  in  Paris  two 
years  later.  She  was  a  poor  Rosina,  but  a 
good  Dona  Anna.  On  the  whole  she  was 
more  successful  in  London  and  Naples  than 
in  Paris.  Wife  of  the  following;  205,  300, 426. 

De'  Begnis,  Giuseppe  (b.  Lugo  1793;  d.  New 
York  1849).  Italian  buffo  comico.  Debut  at 
Modena  in  1813,  in  PavesFs  Marco  Antonio. 
One  of  his  greatest  .successes  was  obtained  in 
Rossini's  Turco.  Later  he  became  director  of 
the  opera  in  Bath  and  Dublin;  237,  412,  426. 

Deceiver  deceived,  The  (comedy).  See  Pix,  Mrs 
Mary. 

Dedalo  (ballet).  SeeVigan6. 

I>e'  Grecis,  Nicola.  A  minor  buffo  cantante, 
associated  with  Rossini's  early  works  in 
Venice,  la  Cambiale  and  la  Scala  di  Seta;  410, 

Delille,  abb6  Jacques  (b.  Aigueperse,  1738; 
d.  1813).  French  poet,  one  of  the  leading 
figures  of  the  pre-romantic  period.  He  is  best 
known  for  his  translations  of  Virgil  and 
Milton,  his  horticultural  epic  Les  Jardins,  ou 
rArt  d'embellir  les  Paysages  ...  (Paris  1782), 
Ms  poem  De  la  Pitti  (Paris  1803),  and  for  his 
astounding  ingenuity  in  periphrasis;  18,  58, 
59,  108,  119,  200. 

Delire,  le  (opera).  See  Berton. 

De'  Marini,  Giuseppe  Marini,  known  as  (b. 
Milan  1772;  d.  Santa  Maria  di  Papua,  1829). 
Famous  Italian  actor  who  specialized  in 
comedy  and  in  character  interpretations  in 
the  style  of  the  drome  bourgeois*  His  best 
work  was  done  in  Venice  and  Milan;  246, 
260,  282,  284,  375,  405,  406, 


500 


LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 


Demeri  (d'Emeri,  de  Meri),  Mademoiselle. 
Second-rate  French,  singer  at  the  Theatre 
Louvois;  176,  417,  420. 

DEMEXRIO  E  POLiBio.  Opera  by  Rossini. 
Libretto  by  Signora  Vincenzina  Vigand- 
Mombelli,  the  sister  of  the  choreographer. 
The  music,  which  represents  Rossini's  earli 
est  adventure  in  operatic  composition,  was 
probably  written  in  1 806-7,  and  touched  up  by 
Domenico  Mombelli.  First  produced  by  the 
Mombelli  family  in  Rome  on  18th  May  1812; 
132-138, 184,  213,  220,  328,  380,  409,  411. 

Demofoonte  (opera).  See  Leo. 

Derivis,  Henri-Etienne  (b.  Alby  1780;  d.  1856). 
French  bass,  a  pupil  of  the  Conservatoire. 
Debut  at  the  Grand  Opera  in  les  Mysteres 
d'Isis,  1803.  He  was  leading  bass  from  1805  to 
1828,  but  his  voice  was  ultimately  ruined  by 
bad  training.  Rossini  wrote  him  the  part  of 
Mohammed  in  le  Siege  de  Corinthe  (1826), 
but  his  voice  could  not  manage  the  new  style, 
and  he  was  a  failure;  101,  323. 

Desaix  de  Veygoux,  Louis  (b.  Riom  1768; 
killed  Marengo  1800).  French  general  who 
became  known  in  1796.  He  was  largely  res 
ponsible  for  Napoleon's  victories  in  Egypt, 
and  instrumental  in  winning  the  battle  in 
which  he  met  his  death;  204,  319. 

Deserteur,  le  (drama).  See  Sedaine. 

Destouches,  Philippe  N6ricault,  known  as  (b. 
Tours  1680;  d.  1754).  French  comic  drama 
tist,  whose  works  form  a  link  between  the 
high  comedy  of  Moliere  and  the  sentimental 
comedy  of  the  mid-XVinth  century.  His 
major  works  include:  le  Glorieux;  le  Philo- 
sophe  marie,  ou  le  Mary  honteux  de  V&tre 
(5  acts,  1727);  and  le  Dissipateur,  ou  Vhonnete 
friponne  (5  acts,  1736);  185. 

Deux  Cousines,  les.  French  farce,  author 
unknown.  Given  at  the  Theatre  des  Jeunes 
Sieves  on  the  4th  Nov.  1805;  86. 

Deviene,  Francois  (b.  Joinville  1759;  d.  Char- 
enton  1803).  French  composer,  flautist  and 
bassoon-player,  who  ultimately  died  insane. 
His  works  include  12  operas,  of  which  the 
most  successful  were:  les  Visitandines  (1792); 
les  Comediens  ambulants  (1798);  and  le  Valet 
de  deux  Maitres  (1799);  290. 

Devin  du  Village,  le  (opera).  See  Rousseau,  J.-J. 

Dictionnaire  de  V Academic  FrartQaise;  the 
standard,  if  conservative,  reference-book  of 
accepted  French  usage.  Isted.,  1694;  8th  ed., 
1931-5;  100. 

Diderot,  Denis  (b.  Langres  1713;  d.  Paris  1784). 
One  of  the  greatest  French  thinkers  of  the 
XVnith  century,  and  responsible  for  editing 
the  Encyclopedic.  His  Correspondance  with  his 
mistress,  the  actress  Sophie  Volland,  is  a  mine 
of  information  about  the  background  to  the 
intellectual  life  of  the  century:  it  was  finally 
published  by  Andr6  Babelon  in  2  vols.,  1931 ; 
437,  459. 

DIDONE  ABBANDONATA.  Cantata  by  Rossini, 
written  for  Ester  Mombelli  in  1811;  per 
formed  under  the  new  title  la  Morte  di 
Didone  in  Venice  on  the  2nd  May  1818. 
Librettist  unknown;  414. 

Dirccteur  de  Troupe,  le  (opera).  See  Mozart, 
Schauspieldirektor. 

Dissipateur,  le  (comedy).  See  Destouches. 

Divina  Commedia,  la  (epic  poem).   See  Dante. 

Dolci  (Dolce),  Carlo  (b.  Florence  1616; 
d.  Florence  1686).  Italian  painter,  a  pupil  of 
J.  Vignali.  His  style  is  melodramatic,  his 
subjects  largely  religious,  his  colouring  vague 
and  suave;  57. 


Domenichino  (Domenico  Zampieri,  known 
as).  Italian  painter  (b.  Bologna  1581; 
d.  Naples  1641).  A  notable  draughtsman  and 
colourist  of  genius;  192. 

Don  Carlos  (tragedy).  See  Schiller. 

Don  Giovanni  (opera).  See  Mozart. 

Don  Juan  (epic  poem).  See  Byron. 

DONNA  DEL  LAGO,  LA.  Opera  in  2  acts  by  Ros 
sini'.  Libretto  by  Andrea  Leone  Tottola, 
based  on  poem  by  Sir  Walter  Scott.  Per 
formed  at  the  San-Carlo,  Naples  on  24th 
Sept.  1819;  first  given  in  England  at  the  Hay- 
market  Theatre,  18th  Feb.  1823;  168,  218, 
332,  342,  355,  377-381,  384,  385,  407,  413. 

Donzelli,  Domenico  (b.  Bergamo  1790;  d. 
Bologna  1873).  Italian  tenor,  who  made  his 
debut  in  Rome  c.  1815.  Rossini  wrote  him  a 
part  in  Torvaldo,  as  did  Mercadante  in  Elisa 
e  Claudio.  He  sang  in  Vienna,  Paris  and 
London,  and  retired  in  1841. 

Dorat,  Claude-Joseph  (b.  Paris  1734;  d.  Paris 
1780).  French  poet  of  the  pre-romantic 
period,  best  known  for  a  species  of  short 
narrative  poem  called  the  heroi'de,  which  he 
perfected;  200. 

Dragonetti,  Signor.  A  member  of  the  Louvois 
orchestra,  probably  related  to  the  great 
double-bass  player,  Domenico  Dragonetti 
(1763-1846)  of  the  King's  Theatre,  London; 

Dragonetti,  Luigi  (b.  Aquila  1791;  d.  Aquila 
1871).  Italian  patriot  and  orator,  who 
emerged  to  fame  under  Murat,  was  deputy 
from  1820  until  his  arrest  in  1827;  and  even 
tually  returned  to  public  affairs  during  the 
political  ferment  leading  up  to  1848;  444. 

Drouot,  comte  Antoine  (b.  Nancy  1774;  d. 
Nancy  1847).  A  baker's  son  who  rose  to  be 
a  general  in  Napoleon's  army;  later  he  was 
Napoleon's  A.D.C.  in  Elba;  and  after  the 
defeat  of  Waterloo,  it  was  he  who  brought 
the  French  armies  back  to  Paris;  204. 

Du  Belloy  (Pierre  Laurent  Buyrette,  known  as 
Dormont  du  Belloy)  (b.  Saint-Flour  1727; 
d.  Paris  1775).  French  actor,  poet  and 
dramatist.  His  major  works  include  Gabrielle 
de  Vergy  (1777),  one  of  the  first  French  plays 
to  use  a  mediaeval  subject,  and  the  source  of 
many  libretti;  and  le  Siege  de  Calais,  a 
tragedy,  performed  on  13th  Feb.  1765;  30, 
296. 

Du  Bos,  abbe  Jean-Baptiste  (b.  Beauvais  1670; 
d.  Paris  1742).  French  historian,  aesthetician, 
critic  and  diplomat.  His  career  in  the  Foreign 
Office  ended  in  1715,  after  which  he  devoted 
himself  to  letters.  His  major  contribution  lay 
in  the  revival  of  French  aesthetic  theory  after 
the  classical  period,  notably  in  his  Reflexions 
critiques  sur  la  Poesie  et  sur  la  Peinture 
(2  vols.,  Paris  1719);  239, 

Duclos,  Charles  Pinot  (b.  Dinan  1704;  d.  Paris 
1772).  French  novelist,  wit  and  scholar,  and 
one  of  the  most  entertaining  minor  writers  of 
his  time.  His  novel,  Histoire  de  Madame  de 
Luz,  anecdotic  du  Regne  de  Henri  IV  was 
published  at  the  Hague,  2  vols.,  1741 ;  278. 

Ducray-Duminil,  Francois-Guillaume  (b.  Paris 
1761;  d.  Ville-d'Avray  1819).  French  song 
writer,  dramatist  and  exceedingly  moral 
novelist.  His  novels  (e.g-.  Les  Petits  Orphelins 
du  Hameau,  1800)  were  vastly  popular,  and 
the  source  of  countless  melodramas;  16. 

Du  Deffand,  Madame  Marie  de  Vichy- 
Chamrond,  Marquise  du  D.  (b.  Chateau  de 
Chamrond  1697;  d.  Paris  1780).  One  of  the 
wittiest  and  most  intelligent  Frenchwomen 


INDEX  AND  TABLE  OF  REFERENCES 


501 


of  the  XVHIth  century.  Her  salon  was  fre 
quented  by  Voltaire,  Montesquieu,  d'Alem- 
bert  and  many  others.  In  1765,  when  she  had 
been  blind  for  12  years,  she  developed  a 
passion  for  Horace  Walpole,  from  which 
resulted  an  amazing  correspondence  (Paris, 
4vols.,  1812);  198. 

Due  Giornate,  le  (opera).  See  Mayr. 

Du  Hausset,  Madame.  Lady-in-waiting  to 
Madame  de  Pompadour.  Her  memoirs,  Les 
Memoires  de  Madame  du  Hausset,  femme  de 
chambre  de  Madame  de  Pompadour  were  pub 
lished  by  Quentin  Crawford  (Paris  1824); 

Dumoustier  (Demoustier),  Charles-Albert  (b. 
Villers-Cotterets  1760;  d.  Paris  1801).  French 
poet  and  dramatist,  best  known  for  his 
popular  Lettres  a  Emilie  sur  la  Mythologie 
(1786-98),  His  best  play  was  les  Femmes 
(comedy,  3  acts,  Paris  1793);  37. 

Durante,  Francesco  (b.  Frattamaggiore  1684; 
d.  Naples  1755).  Italian  composer,  mainly  of 
church-music.  Durante  was  one  of  the  great 
est  teachers  of  his  tune;  his  most  celebrated 
pupil  was  Piccmni.  For  a  list  of  works,  see 
Fetis;  18,  119,  120. 

Dussault,  Jean-Joseph-Francois  (b.  Paris  1769; 
d.  Paris  1824).  French  journalist  and  poli 
tician.  Having  made  his  journalistic  appren 
ticeship  with  Freron  on  the  Orateur  du 
Peuple,  he  became  one  of  the  early  editors  of 
the  Journal  des  Dlbats,  from  which  he 
retired  in  1818;  311. 

ED0ARDO  E  CRISTINA.  Opera  by  Rossini. 
Libretto  compiled  by  Tottola,  Bevilacqua- 
Aldobrandini  and  Schmidt,  based  on  another 
used  earlier  by  Pavesi.  The  music  is  largely 
borrowed  from  earlier  operas — Adelafda, 
Ricciardo  and  Ermione.  First  performed 
Venice,  24th  April  1819;  388-392, 413. 

Edwards,  William  Frederick  (b.  Jamaica  1777; 
d.  Versailles  1842).  A  French  doctor  of 
English  descent,  and  a  pioneer  in  the  study 
of  psychological  pathology.  His  main  works 
include :  De  ^influence  des  agents  physiques  sur 
la  vie  (Paris  1824);  and  Des  caracteres  physio- 
logiques  des  races  humaines  ...  (Paris  1829); 

Eglantine,  Philippe-Francois-Nazaire  Fabre, 
known  as  d'E.  (b.  Carcassonne  1750;  guillo 
tined  Paris  1794).  French  actor,  dramatic 
poet  and  anarchistic  revolutionary;  his  works 
include  the  famous  song,  //  pleut,  il  pleut 
Bergere.  Known  as  the  Chef  des  Pourris,  he 
fell  with  Danton  and  Desmoulins;  235. 

EGLE  ED  IRENE.  Cantata  by  Rossini.  Performed 
in  Milan,  1814,  in  honour  of  the  Princess 
Belgioioso.  Librettist  unknown;  414. 

Eiser,  Mademoiselle.  Singer  with  a  talent  for 
intrigue;  32. 

Elena  (opera).  See  Mayr. 

Elefanteide,  I'  (satirical  poem).  See  Buratti. 

Elisa  (opera).  See  Mayr. 

Elisa  e  Claudio  (opera).  See  Mercadante. 

Elisabetta  (opera).  See  Carafa,  Elisabeth  in 
Derbyshire. 

ELISABETTA,  REGINA  D'lNGHILTERRA.     Opera  by 

Rossini.  Libretto  by  O.  Schmidt,  based 
indirectly  on  The  Recess,  or,  A  Tale  of  other 
Times,  by  Sophia  Lee  (1785).  Performed  at 
the  San-Carlo,  Naples,  on  the  4th  Oct.  1815; 
13,  129,  131, 148, 152-1(54, 165,  167, 169,  171, 
259,  332,  349,  361,  377,  390,  396,  412,  415, 
425. 
Enfant  cheri  des  Dames.  An  aria,  said  to  have 


been  stolen  from  Mozart  by  Deviene  fa.v.) 
and  inserted  in  les  Visitandines;  290. 
Enfant  de  Paris  (P),  ou  le  Debit  de  Consolations. 
Vaudeville  by  Lurien,  d'Allarde  and  Armand 
d'Artois,  given  at  the  Theatre  des  Varietes, 
4th  June  1823;  242,  253. 
Ennius,  Quintus  (240-169  B.C.).     Latin  poet 
from  whom  Virgil  borrowed  certain  lines  and 
images,  commenting  cynically  that  "there 
was  an  occasional  pearl  to  be  found  even  in 
Ennius'  dung-heap"';  28. 
Entfuhrung  aus  dem  Serail  (opera).  See  Mozart. 
Epinay,    Madame    Louise-Florence-P6tronille 
Tardieu    d'Esclavelles,    Marquise    d'E.   (b. 
Valenciennes  1726;  d.  Paris  1783).  One  of 
the  great  patrons  of  the  Philosophes,  and 
lover  of  Baron  Grimm.  Her  salon  was  a 
famous   meeting   place    of  the    advanced 
thinkers  of  the  period,  and  it  was  she  who 
offered  Rousseau  a  home  at  the  Ermitage. 
The  Memoires  et  Correspondance  de  Madame 
d3 Epinay  were  published  in  1818;  200. 
Epitre  a  Racine  (poem).  See  Boileau-Despreaux. 
EQUIVOCO  STRAVAGANTE,  L',  Opera  by  Rossini  in 
one  act.  Libretto,  of  surpassing  badness,  by 
Gaetano  Gasparri.  Performed  in  Bologna, 
29th  October  1811;  46,  328,  410. 
ERMIONE.   Opera  by  Rossini.  2  Acts.  Libretto, 
based  on  Racine's  Andromaque,  by  Tottola. 
Performed  in  Naples,  27th   March    1819. 
Failure;  65,  168,  332,  383,  389,  413. 
Este,  Maria-Beatrice,  Princess  d'E.  A  descend 
ant  of  the  princely  Italian  family  which 
reached  its  height  in  the  XUIth  century.  She 
was  the  daughter  of  Francesco  III  (1737-80), 
and  married  the  Arch-Duke  Ferdinand  of 
Austria-Este,  whose  son,  Francesco  IV,  Duke 
of  Modena,  was  to  become  in  1821  one  of  the 
most  reactionary  and  ferocious  despots  in 
Italian  history;  9. 

Esterhazy  of  Galantha,  Paul  Anton  (d.  1762). 
The  famous  patron  of  the  arts,  who  ap 
pointed  Haydn  second  Kapellmeister  at 
Eisenstadt  on  1st  May  1761,  and  in  whose 
service  Haydn  was  to  remain  until  the  end  of 
his  life;  455. 

Etienne,  Charles-Guillaume  (b.  Chamouilley 
1777;  d.  Paris  1845).  French  dramatist  and 
journalist,  who  was  head  of  the  Censorship 
Office  under  Napoleon.  His  plays  were 
highly  esteemed  in  their  day;  his  Cendrillon 
(ppera-feerie  en  3  actes,  with  music  by 
Isouard,  Paris  1810)  was  the  basis  of  Ros 
sini's  la  Cenerentola;  75,  87,  241. 
Euclid  (306-283  B.C.).  Greek  geometer;  320. 
Eugene  de  Beauharnais,  Due  de  Leuchtenberg, 
Prince  d'Eichstadt,  Viceroy  of  Italy  (b. 
Paris  1781;  d.  Munich  1824).  Son  of  the 
ill-fated  Gen6ral  de  Beauharnais  (guillotined 
1794)  and  of  Josephine  Tascher  de  la 
Pagerie,  later  the  wife  of  Napoleon.  His  early 
military  career  took  him  to  Egypt  and  the 
siege  of  Acre;  his  administration  of  Italy  was 
of  the  highest  order,  and  he  was  one  of 
Napoleon's  most  effective  officers,  both  in 
civil  and  in  military  affairs;  95,  302. 
Eustace,  the  Reverend  John  Chetwode.  Author 
of  A  Tour  through  Italy »  exhibiting  a  view  of 
its  scenery,  its  antiquities  and  its  monuments ... 
with  an  account  of  the  present  state  of  its 
cities  ...  and  an  account  of  the  recent  spolia 
tions  of  the  French  (London,  2  vols.,  1813); 
399,  428. 

Fabbrica,  Signora.  Singer;  426. 

Fabris,  Giuseppe.    Italian  singer,  member  of 


502 


LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 


the  original  cast  of  Aureliano  in  Palmira 
(Milan  1814);  411. 

Fagnani,  il  Marchese.  One  of  the  adminis 
trators  of  La  Scala,  Milan;  424. 

Falkland,  oil  La  Conscience,  Tragedy  by  Jean- 
Louis  Laya,  first  performed  at  the  Odeon,  6 
Prairial  An  VI,  with  a  cast  including  Talma, 
Mol6,  Monvel  and  Madame  Mezeray;  282. 

Famille  Suisse>  la  (opera).  See  Weigl,  die 
Schweizerfamilie. 

Faniska  (opera).  See  Cherubim. 

Farinelli,  Giuseppe  (b.  Este  1769;  d.  Trieste 
1836).  Italian  composer,  who  worked  mainly 
in  Naples,  Turin  and  Trieste.  He  left  some  35 
operas,  of  which  the  best  known  were  Teresa 
e  Claudia  (1801);  Chi  la  dura  la  vince  (1803) 
and  /  jRfrf  d'Efeso  (1803).  Such  fame  as  he 
had  was  eclipsed  by  Rossini;  26,  185. 

Farinelli  (stage-name  of  Carlo  Broschi)  (b. 
Andria  1705;  d.  Bologna  1782).  Italian  male 
soprano  of  the  "golden  age",  who  enjoyed 
a  European  reputation  between  1724  and 
1737,  after  which  he  abandoned  the  stage  for 
politics,  becoming  a  sort  of  eminence  grise  at 
the  court  of  Philip  Vth  of  Spain;  341. 

Farnese  dynasty.  Italian  family  who  ruled 
Parma  for  two  centuries.  The  first  step  to 
power  was  the  election  of  Alessandro 
Farnese  to  the  Papacy  as  Paul  HI  in  1534. 
The  line  died  out  in  1731;  446. 

Faublas  (novel).  See  Louvet  de  Couperay,  Vie 
du  Chevalier  de  Faublas. 

Fauriel,  Claude-Charles.  French  scholar  and 
translator,  whose  versions  of  Manzoni's 
plays,  Le  Comte  de  Carmagnola;  Adelghis 
(tragedies)  appeared  in  Paris  in  1823;  386. 

Fausse  Magie,  la  (opera).  See  Gr6try. 

Faux  Pourceaugnac,  le.  Parisian  vaudeville, 
author  unknown;  236. 

Federici,  Vincenzo  (b.  Pesaro  1764;  d.  Milan 
1826).  Italian  composer,  who  was  also 
sporadically  conductor  at  the  King's  Theatre 
1790-1802.  He  left  a  number  of  minor  operas, 
of  which  the  most  successful  was  Castore  e 
Polluce.  Not  to  be  confused  with  Francesco 
Federici  of  Genoa;  26. 

Femmes,  les  (comedy).  See  Dumoustier. 

Fenelon,  Francois  de  Salignac  de  la  Mothe 
(b.  Perigord  1651 ;  d.  Cambrai  1715).  French 
divine,  preacher,  educationist  and  writer.  In 
1689,  he  was  appointed  tutor  to  the  Due  de 
Bourgogne,  for  whom  he  wrote  his  famous 
allegorical  novel  Tdemaque;  394. 

Ferdinando  I  di  Borbone,  King  of  the  Two 
Sicilies  (Ferdinand  HI  of  Sicily,  Ferdinand 
IV  of  Naples)  (b.  Naples  1751;  d.  Naples 
1825).  Ascended  the  throne  at  the  age  of 
nine;  on  assuming  the  government  in  1767, 
one  of  his  first  acts  was  to  expel  the  Jesuits; 
but  soon  he  lost  all  real  power  to  his  wife 
Maria-Carolina.  Now  chiefly  remembered 
for  the  cruelty  of  his  oppression  during  the 
reaction  after  1799;  148-150,  166,  414,  434, 
435. 

Ferretti  (Feretti),  lacopo  (b.  Rome  1784; 
d.  Rome  1852).  One  of  the  best  Italian 
librettists.  He  began  as  a  teacher  of  classics 
in  the  Collegio  Romano;  later  he  held  a 
small  post  in  a  tobacco-factory.  His  libretti 
include  la  Cenerentola  and  Mathilde  di 
Chabran;  240. 

Festa-Maffei,  Francesca  (b.  Naples  1778;  d.  St 
Petersburg  1836).  Italian  soprano,  a  pupil  of 
Aprile.  She  had  a  successful  career  in  Italy 
and  Paris,  where  she  was  the  rival  of  Signora 
Barilli;  144,  357,  411. 


Feydeau,  Theatre.  See  Theatres. 

Fi6vee,  Joseph  (b.  Paris  1767;  d.  Paris  1839). 
French  journalist  and  dramatist,  who  began 
as  a  type-setter.  His  literary  career  began 
with  Condorcet's  Chronique  de  Paris,  but  he 
rapidly  moved  towards  the  right,  becoming 
a  staunch  royalist  after  1816.  His  works 
include  the  libretto  for  Berton's  les  Rigueurs 
du  Cloltre;  87. 

FIGUO  PER  AZZARDO  (EL),  OSSia  I  DUE  BRUSCHINI. 


402,  411. 

Filarmonici  (Verona).  See  Theatres. 

Fitte  d'Honneur,  la.  French  comedy,  5  acts  in 
verse,  by  A.  Duval  (Theatre  Francois,  30th 
December  1818);  86. 

Finta  Semplice>  la  (opera).  See  Mozart. 

Fioravanti,  Giuseppe.  Minor  Italian  singer, 
member  of  the  original  cast  of  Mathilde  di 
Shabran  (1821);  414. 

Fioravanti,  Valentino  (b.  Rome  1764;  d.  Capua 
1837).  Italian  composer  who  made  his  debut 
in  Rome  in  1784  with  Le  Avventure  di 
Bertoldino.  He  left  some  75  operas,  of  which 
the  best  known,  Le  Cantatrici  Villane  was 
revived  in  Germany  in  1931;  26,  27,  49, 
397. 

Fiorentini,  Teatro  del  (Naples).  See  Theatres. 

Fleury  (Abraham- Joseph  Benard,  known  as) 
(b.  Chartres  c.  1750;  d.  M6nars-le-Chateau 
1822).  French  actor  who  entered  the 
ComSdie-Francaise  in  1778,  retired  in  1818. 
He  specialized  in  the  portrayal  of  rakes  and 
captains  of  industry.  See  his  Memoires,  ed. 
J.-B.  Lafitte;  246. 

Fodor,  Madame  Jos6phine  Mainvielle,  nee 
Fodor  (b.  Paris  1789;  d.  Saint-Genis  1870). 
The  daughter  of  a  French  violinist  employed 
in  St  Petersburg,  she  made  her  debut  in 
Russia,  and  later  sang  all  over  Europe 
between  1814  and  1833.  She  was  the  first 
Rosina  on  the  Parisian  stage,  and  the  model 
for  Henriette  Sonntag;  56,  121,  181,  192, 
195,  203,  205,  218,  261,  265,  300,  320,  323, 
335,  350,  357,  424,  426,  432. 

Fceneste,  le  Baron  de  (novel).  See  Aubigne. 

Fondo,  Teatro  del  (Milan).   See  Theatres. 

Fontenelle,  Bernard  le  Bovier  de  (b.  Rouen 
1657;  d.  Paris  1757).  French  writer,  philo 
sopher  and  wit.  A  nephew  of  the  great 
Corneille,  Fontenelle  is  best  known  for  works 
such  as  the  Entretiens  sur  la  Plurality  des 
Mondes  (1686),  in  which  he  presents  scientific 
discoveries  in  a  popular  and  "galant"  style; 
184. 

Foy,  General  Maximilien-S6bastien  (b.  Ham 
1775;  d.  Paris  1825).  French  soldier  and 
politician.  His  military  gifts  gave  him  high 
rank  in  spite  of  his  opposition  to  Napoleon; 
in  1819,  he  became  deputy  for  the  Aisne,  and 
rapidly  emerged  as  one  of  the  most  popular 
liberal  orators  of  his  day;  363. 

Francis  I  of  Austria  (later  the  Emperor 
Francis  n)  (b.  Florence  1768;  d.  Vienna 
1835).  Son  of  Leopold,  Grand-Duke  of 
Tuscany.  A  weak  ruler  served  by  a  succession 
of  great  ministers,  including  Kaunitz  and 
Mettemich;  414. 

Francois  I,  King  of  France  (b.  Cognac  1494; 
d.  Rambouillet  1547).  The  son  of  Charles  de 
Valois  and  Louise  de  Savoie,  he  succeeded  to 
his  cousin  Louis  Xn  in  1515.  One  of  the 
most  brilliant  Kings  of  France,  a  soldier, 
statesman,  poet  and  leader  of  fashion,  and  the 


INDEX  AND  TABLE  OF  REFERENCES 


503 


source  of  a  vast  quantity  of  legendary 
material;  116. 

Frederick  the  Great,  King  of  Prussia  (b.  Berlin 
1712;  d.  Potsdam  1786).  Reigned  1740-1786. 
Besides  his  other  gifts,  Frederick  was  a  flute- 
player  and  composer  of  no  mean  ability; 
116,323,467. 

Freischutz,  der  (opera).   See  Weber. 

Furia,  Francesco  del  (ft.  1810-1840).  Italian 
scholar,  best  known  for  his  work  on  Longus 
and  ^Esop.  See  P.-L.  Courier,  Lettre  a  M. 
Renouard,  libraire,  sur  une  tache  faite  a  un 
manuscrit  de  Florence  (Rome  1810);  447. 

Fusconi,  Giuseppe.  Minor  Italian  singer, 
member  of  the  original  cast  of  Mathilde  di 
Shdbran  (1821);  414. 

Gabrielli,  Adriana  (b.  Ferrara  1755;  d.  Venice 
c.  1800).  XVinth  century  soprano,  known  as 
la  Ferrarese.  Mozart  was  not  greatly  im 
pressed  by  her  singing;  nevertheless,  he  wrote 
her  the  aria  Al  desio  di  chi  t'adora  (K.  577), 
and  she  was  a  member  of  the  original  cast  of 
Cost  fan  Tutte;  318,  339,  341. 

Gabriette  de  Vergy  6lay).  See  Du  Belloy. 
(Opera)  see  Carafa;  Mercadante. 

Gafforini,  Elisabetta.  Celebrated  soprano,  who 
flourished  in  Italy,  Spain  and  Portugal 
between  1790  and  1812.  Her  last  recorded 
performance  was  at  la  Scala  in  1815.  Famous 
for  comic  parts;  407. 

Gaiett,  Thldtre  de  la  (Paris).  See  Theatres. 

Gallenberg,  Graf  Wenzel  Robert  von  (b.  Vienna 
1783;  d.  Rome  1839).  Austrian  amateur 
composer,  who  married  Giulietta  Guicciardi, 
one  of  Beethoven's  passions.  In  1806,  he 
took  charge  of  the  music  for  the  court 
theatre  of  Naples,  and  between  1816  and 
1838,  he  collaborated  frequently  with 
Barbaja.  Grove  gives  a  list  of  his  ballets.  See 
also  Aumeri  303. 

Galli,  Filippo  (b.  Rome  1783;  d.  Paris  1853). 
Italian  tenor,  later  bass.  He  made  his  debut 
in  Bologna  in  1804;  his  first  appearance  as  a 
bass  was  in  Rossini's  I'lngannofelice.  Later, 
he  acquired  the  reputation  as  the  greatest 
basso  cantante  in  Europe;  but  from  1842,  he 

,  lived  in  Paris  in  great  poverty;  24,  76,  85, 
90,  139,  141,  144,  145,  164,  169,  170,  179, 
221,  224,  238,  241,  242,  249,  260,  268,  269, 
270,  282,  283,  284,  286,  288,  361,  384,  395, 
410,  411,  412,  413,  414,  415. 

Gallianis  (Galianis),  Mademoiselle.  Contralto, 
member  of  the  original  cast  of  la  Gazza  ladra: 
261,  280,  412. 

Galuppi,  Baldassare,  nicknamed  il  Buranello 
(b.  Burano  Island  1706;  d.  Venice  1785). 
Italian  composer  of  note,  who  made  his 
debut  at  Chioggia  in  1722  with  la  Fede  neW 
Incostanza.  He  worked  mainly  in  Venice, 
London  and  St  Petersburg.  His  greatest 
comic  operas  were  those  written  in  collabora 
tion  with  the  dramatist  Goldoni.  See  Grove 
for  full  list;  22,  58,  118,  119,  120,  308. 

Ganganelli,  Giovanni  Vincenzo,  Pope 
Clement  XIV  (1705-1774).  His  main  act 
after  his  election  (1769)  was  to  suppress  the 
Jesuits.  His  motives  for  so  doing  have  been 
discussed  for  two  centuries;  and  for  many 
years  it  was  believed  that  he  died  poisoned 
by  his  enemies;  240. 

Garcia,  Manuel  del  Popolo  Vicente  (b.  Seville 
1775;  d.  Paris  1832).  Spanish  tenor,  teacher 
and  composer,  founder  of  a  famous  family. 
He  made  his  debut  in  Italian  opera  in  Paris  in 
1808,  in  Paer's  Griselda.  Garcia  was  one  of 


Rossini's  greatest  interpreters  during  his 
"Neapolitan  period'*,  and  one  of  the  most 
dynamic  musical  personalities  of  all  time; 
101,  161,  165,  168,  172,  180,  205,  216,  221, 

Gardel,  Pierre-Gabriel  (Gardel  Jeune)  (b.  Nancy 
1758;  d.  Paris  1840).  Member  of  a  famous 
French  family  of  dancers  and  choreo 
graphers.  Head  of  the  danseurs  seuls  et 
doubles  at  the  Opera,  1775.  His  "arrange 
ments"  include  the  divertissements  for 
Rossini's  Siege  de  Corinthe.  Introduced 
Noverre's  reforms  into  the  French  ballet 
tradition;  444. 

Garrick,  David  (b.  Hereford  1717;  d.  London 
1779).  English  actor  and  dramatist;  pupil, 
later  friend,  of  Dr  Johnson.  Made  his  debut 
as  Richard  III  in  1741.  Director  of  Drury 
Lane  1747-76;  308,  318. 

Gay,  John  (b.  Barnstaple  1685;  d.  London 
1732).  English  poet,  librettist  and  satirist. 
Best  known  for  his  Beggars'  Opera  (with 
Dr  Pepusch),  1728;  454. 

GAZZA  LADRA,  LA.  Opera  by  Rossini  in  2  acts. 
Libretto  by  Giovanni  Gherardini  of  Milan, 
based  on  play  by  Caigniez  (#.v.)  and  Dau- 
bigny.  Performed  at  la  Scala,  Milan  on  31st 
May  1817.  English  version  by  Bishop: 
Ninetta,  or  the  Maid  of  Palaiseau;  38,  39,  59, 
65,  117,  118,  120,  129,  130,  164,  167,  179, 
224,  258-291,  300,  314,  361,  369,  387,  395, 
407,  412,  413,  415,  425,  438. 

GAZZETTA,  LA.  Opera  by  Rossini  in  one  act. 
Libretto  (bad)  by  Tottola.  The  overture  was 
later  used  for  la  Cenerentola.  Performed  at 
the  Teatro  dei  Fiorentini,  Naples,  26th 
September  1816.  Total  failure;  167,  412. 

General  History  of  Music,  A.  See  Burney. 

Generali,  Pietro  (b.  Rome  1773;  d.  Novara 
1873).  Italian  composer,  who  made  his 
debut  in  Rome  with  Gli  Amanti  Ridicoli 
(1802).  One  of  the  most  successful  composers 
of  his  generation,  and  one  of  the  few  whose 
popularity  survived  the  advent  of  Rossini. 
He  left  some  60  operas,  of  which  the  best 
known  were  Pamela  Nubile  ( 1 804)  and  A  delina 
(1-act/amz,  Venice  1810);  26, 27 ,33, 120, 222. 

Gentili,Serafino  (b.  near  Venice  1786;  d.  Milan 
1835).  Well-known  Italian  tenor,  who  made 
his  debut  in  1807,  and  retired  in  1828;  411. 

Geoflrin,  Madame  Marie-Therese  Rodet  (b. 
Paris  1699;  d.  Paris  1777).  A  self-educated 
woman  of  insignificant  parentage,  her  salon 
grew  to  be  one  of  the  great  meeting-places  of 
the  XVTnth  century.  Her  admirers  included 
Stanislas  Poniatowsky,  who  accorded  her 
regal  honours  in  Warsaw  in  1766;  463. 

Geoffrey,  Julien-Louis  (b.  Rennes  1743; 
d.  Paris  1814).  French  scholar  and  literary 
critic,  who  succeeded  to  the  Annee  Litteraire 
after  the  death  of  Fr6ron,  and  later  became 
dramatic  critic  of  the  Journal  des  Debats; 
143,300,311. 

Gerani.  SeeGorani. 

Geremei.  Historic  family  of  Bologna,  leaders 
of  the  Guelf  faction,  chief  rivals  of  the  Lam- 
bertazzi.  The  political  power  of  the  Geremei 
begins  with  BarurTaldino  de*  Geremei 
in  1217,  and  wanes  with  his  death  in  1252; 
447,  448. 

Gessner,  Salomon  (b.  Zurich  1730;  d.  Zurich 
1788).  Swiss  poet,  painter  and  engraver, 
whose  sentimental  landscape-poetry,  trans 
lated  by  Huber  (les  Idylles,  poemes  cham- 
pitres*  Lyon  1762)  contributed  to  the  forma 
tion  of  French  pre-romanticism;  459. 


504 


LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 


Gherardi,  Signora  Fanny,  nee  Lechi.  Sister  of 
the  generals  Giuseppe  and  Teodoro  Lechi, 
of  Brescia,  Fanny  Lechi  was  a  notable  figure 
in  Bolognese  society.  Formerly  she  had  been 
the  mistress  of  Murat,  the  King  of  Naples, 
and  had  followed  him  to  Rastadt  and  Paris. 
See  R.  Guyot,  "Murat  et  Fanny  Lechi"  in 
Feuilles  d'Histoire,  1st  February,  1909;  229, 
230. 

Gherardi,  Signor  Giuseppe.  Husband  of 
Fanny;  64,  96. 

Gherardini,  Giovanni  (b.  Milan  1778;  d.  1861). 
Italian  doctor,  philologist  and  poet.  His 
works  include  (apart  from  numerous  transla 
tions  from  English  and  German),  the  libretto 
of  la  Gazza  ladra;  la  Vita  di  Carlo  Goldoni 
(1821);  and  la  Vita  di  Gasparo  Gozzi  (1821); 
258. 

Giani,  Felice  (1760-1823).  Italian  designer, 
painter  and  illustrator,  who  worked  in  Rome 
and  Paris.  He  was  responsible  for  many  of 
the  decorations  of  the  Tuileries;  318. 

Giannone,  Pietro  (b.  Ischitella  1676;  d.  Turin 
1748).  Italian  jurist,  scholar,  historian  and 
pamphleteer.  His  major  work  is  a  history, 
whose  spirit  foreshadows  that  of  Voltaire: 
Istoria  civile  del  Regno  di  Napoli  (4  vols., 
1723).  His  anti-clericalism  led  to  his  arrest  in 
1736,  and  to  his  long  imprisonment,  which 
ended  in  his  murder  through  the  brutality  of 
a  gaoler  in  Turin;  42,  288,  447. 

Giardiniera,  la  (opera).  See  Mozart. 

Ginevra  di  Scozia  (opera).  See  Mayr. 

Giorgi-Righetti,  Signora  Maria  (b.  Bologna 
1785;  d.  circa  1849).  Italian  soprano  of 
aristocratic  birth.  Debut  in  Rome,  1804.  The 
original  Rosina  of  the  Barber.  After  her 
marriage,  she  sang  only  as  an  amateur,  and 
presided  over  a  fashionable  artistic  salon  in 
Bologna.  Her  reply  to  Stendhal's  article  on 
Rossini  (see  Bibliography)  is  an  important 
document;  172,  237,  395,  412. 

Giorgone,  Giorgio  Barbarelli  da  Castelfranco, 
known  as  il  G.)  (1477-1511).  Major  Italian 
painter  of  the  Venetian  school;  230. 

Giovanola  di  Lodi.  Italian  singer  who  played 
minor  parts  at  the  King's  Theatre  in  1826-7; 

Giraldi,  Giambattista  Cinzio  (b.  Ferrara  1504; 
d.  Ferrara  1573).  Italian  writer,  whose  tales 
(Ecatomiti,  or  Cento  Noyelle,  Venice  1565) 
provide  some  of  the  original  material  for 
Shakespeare's  Othello,  although  Shakespeare 
probably  did  not  use  this  source  directly; 
211. 

Girard,  abb£  Gabriel  (b.  Montferrand  1677; 
d.  Montferrand  1748).  French  grammarian, 
almoner  of  the  Duchesse  de  Berri,  royal 
interpreter  in  Slavonic  languages.  His  book, 
les  Synonymes  francois,  lews  significations  t 
et  le  choix  qifil  en  faut  faire  pour  parler  avec 
justesse  was  published  in  Paris  in  1736;  210. 

Giraud,  Count  Giovanni  (1776-1834).  Roman 
playwright  and  satirical  poet,  a  friend  of 
Buratti  and  Rossi.  His  name  recurs  frequently 
in  Stendhal's  letters  and  diaries;  64. 

Gluck,  Cristof  Willibald  (b.  Erasbach  1714; 
d.  Vienna  1787).  German  composer  who 
came  to  France  under  the  protection  of 
Marie-Antoinette,  and  revolutionized  French 
opera.  His  most  famous  work  is  Orfeo  ed 
Euridice  (libretto  by  Ranieri  Calzabigi),  first 
performed  at  the  Burg  Theatre,  Vienna,  5th 
Oct.  1762;  French  version  by  Moline, 
Theatre  de  1'Opera,  2nd  Aug.  1774;  25,  98, 
168,  179,  201,  202,  284,  413,  458,  459. 


Goethe,  Johann  Wolfgang  von  (1749-1832). 
German  poet,  etc',  317.  The  works  referred 
to  by  Stendhal  are: 

Die  Leiden  des  jungen  Werthers  (romantic 

novel,  1774);  206,  357,  376. 
Die  Kampagne  in  Frankreich  1792  (histor 
ical  memoirs);  317. 

Dichtung  und  Wahrheit  (semi-fictionalized 
autobiography),  1809-1831;  317. 

Goldoni,  Carlo  (b.  Venice  1707;  d.  Paris  1793). 
Italian  dramatist  who  began  writing  for  the 
theatre  in  1747.  He  introduced  the  new  realist 
comedy  into  Italy,  replacing  the  traditional 
cpmmedia  dell*  arte.  His  influence  on  opera- 
libretti  was  immense  (see  list  in  Grove);  2, 
9,  186.  His  works  include: 
//  Tasso  (verse-drama.)  (See  Works,  1788 

edition,  vol.  xxvi.);  9. 
Les  Memoires  de  Goldoni  pour  servir  a 
rhistoire  de  sa  Vie  et  a  celle  de  son 
Theatre,  Paris,  3  vols.,  1787;  2. 

Gorani  (Gerani),  Count  Giuseppe  (b.  Milan 
1740;  d.  Geneva  1819).  Italian  adventurer, 
writer  and  politician.  Took  part  in  the  Seven 
Years'  War  and  in  the  insurrection  of  the 
Corsicans  against  Genoa.  Later,  in  France, 
he  was  associated  with  the  Encyclopedistes 
and  with  the  Girondins.  His  main  work  is  the 
M&moires  secrets  et  critiques  des  Cowry,  des 
Gouvernemens  et  des  Mceurs  des  principaux 
Etats  d'ltalie  (3  vols.,  Paris  1793);  188,  276. 

Goria,  Mademoiselle.  Minor  singer  engaged  at 
the  Theatre  Louvois;  417. 

Gozzi,  Count  Carlo  (b.  Venice  1720;  d.  Venice 
1806).  Italian  writer,  younger  brother  of 
Gasparo  Gozzi,  whose  main  concern  was  to 
defend  the  native  tradition  of  the  Italian 
theatre  against  the  innovations  of  Goldoni. 
He  is  best  known  for  his  Fiabe  (1761-1765), 
and  for  his  autobiographical  Memorie 
Inutili  (1797).  The  latter  grew  out  of  the  need 
to  defend  himself  against  accusations 
levelled  at  his  conduct  by  P.  A.  Gratarol, 
secretary  to  the  Venetian  Senate;  106,  192, 
239. 

Grandeur  et  Decadence  des  Romains,  de  la 
(history).  See  Montesquieu. 

Grassini,  Signora  Giuseppina  (b.  Varese  1773; 
d.  Milan  1850).  A  great  Italian  contralto  of 
humble  origins,  trained  by  Marchesi  and 
Crescentim.  Debut  at  Milan,  1794,  in 
Zingarelli's  Artaserse.  The  greatest  triumphs 
of  her  career  came  in  Paris.  See  Andr6 
Gavoty,  La  Grassini,  Paris  1947;  376. 

Gratarol  (Cratarol),  Pier  Antonio  (b.  Venice 
1730;  d.  Madagascar  1785).  Venetian  lawyer 
and  diplomat,  for  34  years  secretary  to  the 
Senate  of  Venice.  In  1779,  he  became  in 
volved  in  an  amorous  intrigue  with  political 
consequences,  and  fled  to  Stockholm,  where 
he  published  a  Narrazione  apologetica, 
involving  Carlo  Gozzi.  Gozzi's  reply  was  his 
now  famous  Memoirs  (see  Gozzi};  192. 

Grattan,  Lord  Henry  (b.  Dublin  1746;  d. 
London  1820).  Irish  statesman,  whose 
career  opened  in  1775,  as  a  member  of  the 
Irish  Parliament.  A  superb  orator,  whose  life- 
work  was  dedicated  to  the  Irish  cause, 
Grattan  achieved  the  repeal  of  the  English 
Declaratory  Act  (1782).  After  1805,  his 
influence  was  overshadowed  by  that  of 
O'Connell;  444. 
Graziani,  Signor.  A  minor  singer  engaged  at 

the  Theatre  Louvois;  417. 
Gretry,  Andr6  Ernest  Modeste  (b.  Liege  1741; 
d.  Montmorency  1813).  French  composer  of 


INDEX  AND  TABLE  OF  REFERENCES 


505 


operas,  best  known  for  his  Richard  Caeur-de- 

Lion.  Founder  of  the  tradition  of  the  Opera- 

Comique;  19, 129, 202, 296,  335, 457, 458, 459. 

LaFausse  Magie  (opera  in  2  acts);  libretto 

by     Marmontel;     performed    at    the 

Comedie  Italienne,   1st  February  1775; 

456,  459. 

Lisbeth  (opera  in  3  acts);  libretto  by  de 
Farieres;  performed  at  the  Grand  Optra, 
10th  January  1797;  266. 

Griselda  (opera).  See  Paer. 

Grossi,  Tommaso  (b.  Bellano  1790;  d.  Milan 
1853).  Italian  novelist  and  satirist,  best  re 
membered  to-day  for  his  "historical  ro 
mance*  *  Marco  Visconti  (1831).  His  early 
satire,  la  Prineide,  was  directed  against  the 
instigators  of  the  Milanese  mob  which 
murdered  Count  Prina  (<?.v.);  110. 

Guascq.  Count  Guasco  was  one  of  the  leading 
political  agitators  and  patriots  in  the  circles 
frequented  by  Stendhal  in  Milan.  See  Cesare 
Cantu,  //  Condliatore  e  i  Carbonari  (Milan 
1878);  451. 

Guerchino  (Guercini),  Giovanni  Francesco 
Barbieri,  known  as  il  G.  (b.  Cento  1591; 
d.  Bologna  1666).  Famous  Italian  painter, 
pupil  of  Zagnoni  and  Gennari;  271. 

Guglielmi,  Giacomo  (b.  Massa  di  Carara  1782). 
Italian  tenor,  eighth  son  of  Pietro  Alessandro 
(see  below).  Little  is  known  of  his  career.  He 
made  his  debut  in  Rome  c.  1803,  and  in  Paris 
in  1809.  In  1819  he  was  in  Naples.  His  voice 
was  agreeable,  but  weak;  237,  412. 

Guglielmi,  Pietro  Alessandro  (b.  Massa  di 
Carara  1728;  d.  Rome  1804).  Italian  com 
poser,  pupil  of  Durante.  Debut  with  Lo 
Solachianello  'mbroglione  (Naples  1757). 
Left  over  100  operas  [see  list  in  Riv.  Mus.  It.t 
vols.  XII  (1905)  and  XVII  (1910)];  26,  33, 
35,  119,  120,  237,  292,  308,  397,  398. 

Guglielmi,  Pietro  Carlo  (b.  Naples  1763; 
d.  Naples  1817).  Eldest  son  of  P.  Alessandro. 
Italian  composer,  debut  in  Madrid  in  1794. 
Left  some  40  operas,  including  Paolo  e 
Virginia  (1817)  and  Romeo  e  Giulietta  (1810); 
26,  33,  35. 

Guibert,  Jacques-Antoine-Hippolyte,  comte  de 
(b.  Montauban  1743;  d.  Paris  1790).  French 
general  and  military  writer,  whose  experi 
ences  in  the  Seven  Years'  War  were  worked 
out  in  his  Essai  de  Tactique  Generate  (1772) 
and  Defense  du  Systeme  de  Guerre  Moderne 
(1779).  He  was  a  lover  of  Mile  de  Lespinasse; 
61. 

Guidarini,  Anna.  Mother  of  Rossini;  41, 45, 95. 

Guido  Reni  (b.  Calvenzano  1575;  d.  Bologna 
1642).  Famous  Italian  painter;  84,  173. 

Gymnase-Dramatique,  le  (Paris).   See  Theatres. 

Gyrowetz  (Jirovec),  Adalbert  (b.  Budgjovice 
1763;  d.  Vienna  1850).  Bohemian  chore 
ographer  and  composer,  who  worked  mainly 
in  Vienna,  Paris  and  London.  He  left  30 
operas  and  60  symphonies;  his  ballets  include 
Die  Hochzeit  der  Thetis  und  des  Peleus,  andLes 
Pages  du  Due  de  Vendome  (see  Aumer);  205. 

Handel,  Georg  Friedrich  (b.  Halle  1685;  d. 
London  1759).  German  composer,  later 
naturalized  English.  In  the  XVlIIth  century, 
he  was  renowned  chiefly  as  a  composer  of 
opera;  120. 

Hasse,  Johann  Adolf  (b.  Bergedorf  1699; 
d.  Venice  1783).  German  composer  of 
operas,  intermezzi,  etc.  His  celebrity  in  the 
XVnith  century  was  "world-wide",  his 
facility  astounding;  and  he  as  much  as  any 


one  contributed  to  the  growing  popularity  of 
music  in  the  Italian  style.  See  Grove  for  a  list 
of  works;  119,  120. 

Haydn,  Franz-Josef  (b.  Rohran  1732;  d.  Vienna 
1809).  Austrian  composer;  17,  33,  35,  46,  51, 
60,  123,  129,  195,  222,  224,  249,  262,  263, 
277,  284,  289,  310, 455.  His  works  include: 
Die  Schopfung  (The  Creation).  Oratorio, 
text  by  Lidley,  translated  by  van  Swieten. 
Vienna,  29th  April  1798;  46. 
Die  Jahrezeiten  (The  Seasons).   Text  from 
Thompson,   adapted  by  van  Swieten. 
Vienna,  24th  April  1801;  46,  249,  277. 

Heckewaelder,  the  Reverend  John  Gottlieb 
Ernest.  Author  of  A  History  of  the  Manners 
and  Customs  of  the  Indian  Nations  ...  ; 
translated  by  le  chev.  du  Ponceau,  Histoire, 
Maeurs  et  Coutumes  des  Nations  indiennes 
qui  habitaient  autrefois  la  Pensylvanie  et  les 
Etats  voisins  (Paris  1822). 

Hele,  Thomas  d*  (Thomas  Hales,  known  in 
France  as  d'H.)  (b.  Gloucester  1740;  d.  Paris 
1780).  English  dramatist,  who  worked  in 
France  from  1770.  Three  of  his  libretti  were 
used  by  Grety;  316. 

Helvetius,  Claude-Adrien  (b.  Paris  1715; 
d.  Paris  1771).  French  philosopher,  one  of 
the  leaders  of  the  Encyclopedistes.  His  major 
treatise,  De  I'Esprit  (1758),  provoked  one  of 
the  great  intellectual  and  moral  crises  of  the 
century;  461. 

Henri  m,  King  of  France  (1551-1589).  One  of 
the  most  unpopular  kings  in  the  history  of 
France,  he  was  weak,  tyrannical  and, 
treacherous.  He  was  finally  assassinated  at 
St.-Cloud;  274. 

Henri  IV,  King  of  France  (1553-1610).  The 
founder  of  the  modern  State  of  France.  In 
the  XVIIIth  century,  Henri  IV  became  a 
popular  idol,  whose  virtues  were  contrasted 
bitterly  with  the  defects  of  his  successors; 
85,  201,  236. 

Henry  VJII,  King  of  England  (b.  Greenwich 
1491;  d.  London  1547);  207. 

Herodotus  (484-425  B.C.).  Greek  historian. 
See  Courier,  199. 

Hertford,  Lord  Ingram.  Lord  Chamberlain  of 
England,  and  Administrator  of  the  King's 
Theatre;  423. 

Herz  (Hertz),  Heinrich  (b.  Vienna  1803; 
d.  Paris  1888).  German  pianist  and  com 
poser.  A  student  of  the  Paris  Conservatoire, 
he  won  first  prize  for  the  pianoforte  in  1818. 
A  brilliant  bravura  virtuoso,  influenced  by 
Moscheles.  He  left  8  concertos  and  200  other 
works  for  the  piano.  Schuman  delighted  in 
parodying  his  pretentious  style;  335. 

Histoire  de  Charles  XII  (history).  See  Voltaire. 

Histoire  de  Cromwell  (history).    See  ViUemain. 

Histoire  de  la  Peinture  en  Italie,  critical  essay 
by  Stendhal. 

Histoire  de  I'Eglise  (history).  See  Potter, 
L.-J.-A.  de. 

Histoire  de  ma  Vie  (autobiography).  See 
Aubign6. 

Histoire  de  Naples  (history).  See  Giannone. 

Histoire  de  Toscane  (history).   See  Pignotti. 

Hoffimann,  Francois-Benoit  (b.  Nancy  1760; 
d.  Paris  1828).  French  writer  and  critic,  who 
owed  his  greatest  success  to  his  comic 
libretti  (used  by  Mehul,  Gr6try,  Dalayrac, 
et  c.)  and  to  his  critical  articles  in  the  Journal 
de  VEmpire  and  the  Journal  des  Debats;  143. 

Homer.  Greek  epic  poet;  98. 

Horace  (tragedy).  See  Corneille.  (Opera)  see 
Cimarosa. 


506 


LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 


Hussites,  les  (ballet).  See  Vigand. 
Hutchinson,  Lucy  Apsley:  Author  of  Memoirs 

of  the  Life  of  Colonel  [Julius]  Hutchinson  ... 

written  by  his  widow  Lucy,  translated  as  the 

Mtmoires  de  Mistress  Hutchinson  (2  vols., 

Paris  1823);  274. 

Idomeneo  (opera).   See  Mozart. 

Iffland,  August  Wilhelm  (b.  Hanover  1759; 
d,  Berlin  1814).  German  actor  and  dramatist; 
one  of  the  outstanding  character-actors  of 
the  drame  bourgeois.  As  a  dramatist,  he  was 
the  chief  rival  to  Kotzebue;  282,  284. 

IGEA.  Cantata  by  Rossini.  Performed  Naples, 
20th  Feb.  1819.  Libretto  by  Antonio 
Niccolini;  414. 

Imbimbo,  Emmanuel  (b.  Naples  1765;  d,  Paris 
1839).  Famous  music-teacher  who  lived  and 
worked  in  Paris  from  1808.  His  major  work, 
a  Grammaire  Musicale,  remained  unpub 
lished;  but  he  is  best  known  for  a  little 
brochure  entitled  Observations  sur  VEnseigne- 
ment  mutuel  applique  a  la  Musique  ...  (Paris 
1821);  129. 

INNO  DELL*  INDIPENDENZA.  "National  Hymn", 
by  Rossini.  1815.  Text  by  Giambattista 
Giusti  Also  known  as  the  Inno  agli  Italiani ; 
415. 

INGANNO  FELICE,  L'.  Opera  by  Rossini  (farsa 
comicd).  Performed  in  Venice,  at  the  Teatro 
San-Mose,  on  8th  Jan.  1812.  Libretto  by 
Giuseppe  Foppa;  46, 47,  328,  380,  410,  414. 

Institut  de  France:  a  centralized  organization, 
founded  under  the  Constitution  de  I' An  III, 
which  embraces  the  5  major  Academies  of 
France;  97,  98,  101,  109,  194,  420,  430. 

Interieur  d'w  Bureau  (/'),  ou  La  Chanson. 
Com6die-vaudeville  in  one  act  by  Scribe, 
Ymbert  and  Varbet.  Thedtre  du  Gymnase- 
Dramatique,  25th  Feb.  1823;  86,  302. 

Iphige~nie  en  Aulide  (tragedy).  See  Racine. 

Ipsiboe.  Opera  in  4  acts  by  Moline  de  Saint- 
Yon,  with  music  by  Kreutzer,  ballet  by 
Gardel.  Academic  Royale  de  Musique,  31st 
March  1824.  Based  on  novel  of  same  title  by 
d'Arlincourt;  204. 

Irving,  Edward  (b.  Annan  1792;  d.  Glasgow 
1834).  Scots  divine,  who  leapt  to  notoriety 
as  an  evangelizing  preacher  in  1822.  Founder 
of  the  sect  known  as  the  Irvingites,  he  estab 
lished  a  "Holy  Catholic  Apostolic  Church", 
whose  present  centre  of  worship  is  in  Gordon 
Square,  London;  309. 

Isaiah.  Prophet;  183. 

Isolina  (opera).  See  Morlacchi,  Tebaldo  ed 
Isolina. 

Isouard,  Nicolo  (known  in  France  as  Nicolo) 
(b.  Malta  1775;  d.  Paris  1818).  Operatic 
composer,  proteg6  of  the  Princess  Belmonte. 
Debut  in  Naples  (1795)  with  Avviso  ai 
Maritati.  He  left  some  38  operas,  of  which 
the  most  popular  was  Joconde  (1814).  His 
best  work  was  born  of  his  rivalry  with 
Boleldieu;  295,  425. 

Italian  Opera,  London.  See  Theatres  (King's 
Theatre), 

ITALIANA  IN  ALGERi,  L*.  Opera  in  2  acts  by 
Rossini.  Libretto  by  Angelo  Anelli  (origin 
ally  written  for  Mosca,  and  used  by  him  in 
1808).  Performed  at  the  San-Benedetto, 
Venice,  22nd  May  1813 ;  24, 36, 39,  66, 68-83, 
85,  94, 139,  252,  284,  300,  395,  398, 400, 407, 
411. 

Ivanhoe  (novel).  See  Scott. 

Jacques  Fauvel  (novel).  See  Picard. 


Jardins,  les  (horticultural  epic).  See  Delille. 

Jean-Paul.  See  Richter. 

Jeffrey,  Lord  Francis  (b.  Edinburgh  1773- 
d.  Edinburgh  1850).  Scots  man  of  letters- 
founded  the  Edinburgh  Review  (1803)  and 
remained  its  director  until  1829.  Under  his 
editorship,  this  periodical  became  one  of  the 
most  renowned  in  Europe.  See  also  under 
Alison,  A.;  8.4 

Jeremei,  Bonifazio.  See  Geremei. 

Jerusalem;  the  Emanation  of  the  Giant  Albion, 
a  poem,  with  illustrations,  by  William  Blake 
London  1804;  12. 

Johnson,  Dr  Samuel  (b.  Lichfield  1709; 
d.  London  1784).  English  scholar,  writer  and 
lexicographer;  23. 

Jomelli  (Jommelli),  Nicolo  (b.  Aversa  1714; 
d.  Naples  1774).  Italian  composer;  debut 
with  V Error e  amoroso,  Naples  1737.  Very 
popular  in  his  time,  he  worked  in  Italy, 
Vienna  and  Stuttgart,  and  left  some  70 
operas.  He  was  one  of  the  founders  of  the 
tradition  of  accompanied  recitative  as  a 
means  of  dramatic  expression;  119,  120. 

Joseph  n,  Emperor  of  Austria  (b.  Vienna  1741; 
d.  Vienna  1790).  Mozart's  patron  in  Vienna. 
Although  his  reign  lasted  only  10  years,  he 
showed  all  the  characteristics  of  the  ideal 
"benevolent  despot";  176,  467,  469. 

Josephine,  the  Empress  (Marie-Josephe-Rose 
Tascher  de  la  Pagerie)  (b.  Martinique  1762; 
d.  Malmaison  1814).  Originally  married  to 
General  Beauharnais  (by  whom  she  had  the 
son  who  was  to  become  Prince  Eugene),  she 
later  married  Napoleon  (1796),  but  was 
repudiated  by  him  in  1809.  After  her  retire 
ment,  she  lived  at  Malmaison;  376. 

Journal  des  Debats  politiques  et  Litte~raires. 
One  of  the  great  periodicals  of  the  XDCth 
century.  Beginning  in  1789  as  the  Journal  des 
Debats  et  Decrets,  it  took  its  final  title  in 
1814.  Its  early  editors  included  the  brothers 
Bertin,  Fievee,  Geoffrey,  Dussault,  Hoff 
mann,  Chateaubriand,  Villemain,  etc.;  72, 
136,  202,  205,  324,  384. 

Jouy,  Victor- Joseph-Etienne,  known  as  de  Jouy 
(b.  Jouy-en-Josas  1764;  d.  St.  Germain-en- 
Laye  1846).  French  soldier,  journalist  and 
politician.  Retiring  from  the  army  in  1797,  he 
wrote  many  plays  and  articles  for  the  press; 
his  libretti  include  Rossini's  Motse  (1827) 
and  Guillaume  Tell  (1829);  87. 

Julius  n,  Pope  (Giuliano  della  Rovere) 
(b.  Abbissola  1443;  Pope  1503;  d.  Rome 
1513).  His  tenure  of  office  was  notable  for 
its  military  activities;  he  recovered  most  of 
the  lost  papal  territories,  and  then,  by 
organizing  the  Holy  League,  drove  the 
French  out  of  Italy;  188. 
Juvenal  (A.D.  60-110).  Latin  poet  and  satirist; 
276. 

Kant,  Immanuel  (b.  Kdnigsberg  1724; 
d.  Kdnigsberg  1804),  German  philosopher 
of  Scottish  origin.  Author  of  the  Critique 
of  Pure  Reason,  etc.,  and  founder  of  the 
school  of  "critical  idealism";  125,  398. 

Kean,  Edmund  (b.  London  1787;  d.  Richmond 
1833).  English  actor;  made  his  debut  as 
Shylock  at  Drury  Lane  in  1814.  Kean  was  the 
greatest  interpreter  of  Romantic  intensity  in 
acting;  in  1818  he  went  as  Talma's  guest  to 
Paris,  and  in  1828,  produced  Richard  III 
there,  to  the  enthusiasm  of  the  young  genera 
tion  of  French  Romantic  revolutionaries; 
215, 260,  308. 


INDEX  AND  TABLE  OF  REFERENCES 


507 


Kenttworth  (novel).  See  Scott. 

King  Lear  (tragedy).  See  Shakespeare. 

King's  Theatre  (London).  See  Theatres. 

Knight,  Richard  Paine  (b.  Hereford  1750; 
d.  London  1824).  English  scholar  and 
numismatist,  and  a  great  authority  on  ancient 
art.  His  works  include  An  analytical  Enquiry 
into  the  Principles  of  Taste  (London  1805);239. 

Kotzebue,  August-Friedrich-Ferdinand  von 
(b.  Weimar  1761;  assassinated  Mannheim 
1819).  German  dramatist,  traitor  and 
intriguer.  By  hating  every  man  with  a  sem 
blance  of  greatness,  and  by  betraying  his 
own  country  to  the  Russians,  Kotzebue 
made  himself  about  the  best-detested  man  of 
his  generation.  But  his  dramas  enjoyed  some 
success,  notably  the  Schicksalstragddie 
Menschenhass  und  Reue  (1790),  translated  by 
Bursau  and  Mme  Mol6  as  Misanthropic  et 
Repentir  (5  acts,  in  prose,  Theatre-Francois, 
8  Nivdse  An  VH);  282. 

Kreutzer,  Rodolf  (b.  Versailles  1766;  d. 
Geneva  1831).  French  violinist  and  com 
poser.  Became  conductor-in-chief  at  the 
Academic  de  Musique  in  1817.  Besides  works 
for  the  violin,  Kreutzer  left  many  operas, 
including  Paul  et  Virginie  (1791)  and  Lodo- 
iska  (1791,  in  competition  with  Cherubini); 
120,  452. 

Lablache,  Luigi  (b.  Naples  1794;  d.  Naples 
1858).  Italian  basso  buffo  cantante  of  French 
descent.  Debut  in  Naples,  1812,  as  a  buffo 
napoletano.  His  reputation  reached  its  peak 
after  1830,  when  he  was  appointed  singing- 
master  to  Queen  Victoria;  and  he  was  one  of 
the  torch-bearers  appointed  to  guard  the 
coffin  of  Beethoven;  164,  169,  170,  189,  195, 
412,  426. 

La  Bruyere,  Jean  de  (b.  Paris  1645;  d.  Ver 
sailles  1696).  French  writer  and  moralist, 
originally  tutor,  later  secretary  in  the  service 
of  le  grand  Cond6.  His  major  work,  les 
Caracteres,  appeared  between  1688  and  1696; 
58,  102,  181. 

Lacretelle,  Charles-Jean-Dominique  de  (b. 
Metz  1766;  d.  Macon  1855).  French  histor 
ian  and  journalist.  Assistant  editor  of  the 
Journal  des  Debats  in  1790;  but  later  exiled 
by  Napoleon  as  a  leader  of  the  jeunesse 
doree.  His  historical  works  are  voluminous 
and  tendencious:  e.g.  Histoire  de  Prance 
pendant  le  XVIJIe  siecle  (14  vols.,  Paris, 
1808-26);  445. 

Lady  of  The  Lake,  The  (poem).  See  Scott;  also 
la  Donna  del  Lago, 

La  Fontaine,  Jean  de  (b.  Chateau-Thierry 
1621;  d.  Paris  1695).  French  poet,  univers 
ally  known  for  his  fables  (1668-1696).  The 
fable  entitled  I'Astrologue  quise  laisse  tomber 
dans  un  Puits  is  in  Book  n,  no.  13;  177,  301, 
461. 

Lagrange,  Joseph-Louis  (b.  Turin  1736; 
d.  Paris  1813).  French  mathematician,  who 
began  his  career  as  artillery-instructor  in 
Turin.  His  writings  cover  almost  all  branches 
of  pure  and  applied  mathematics,  and  even 
include  an  JEwaz  d'Arithmetiquepolitique;  320. 

La  Harpe,  Jean-Francois  de  (b.  Paris  1739; 
d.  Paris  1803).  French  scholar  and  critic,  a 
follower  of  the  Encycloptdistes  until  the 
revolution  turned  him  into  a  violent  reaction 
ary.  His  finest  tragedy  was  le  Comte  de 
Warwick  (1763);  but  he  is  best  known  to-day 
for  his  Lycee,  ou  Cours  de  Litterature 
ancienne  et  moderne  (19  vols.,  1799-1806). 


Another  tragedy,  Phihctete  (3  acts,  imitated 
from  Sophocles,  1781)  enjoyed  some  success 
*a tkeXVmth century;  56, 99, 200, 259,  285, 
z9o,  311,  324. 

Lalla-Rookh  (poem).  See  Moore. 

Lambertazzi  family;  the  leading  Ghibelline 
family  of  Bologna,  whose  political  signifi 
cance,  under  Bonifazio  Lambertazzi.  lasts 
from  1217  until  1280;  447,  448. 

Lambertini,  Signora  Marianna.  See  Mombelli. 

Lamennais,  Felicite  de  (b.  St.  Malo  1782; 
d.  1854).  French  philosopher,  whose 
theories  passed  from  one  extreme  of  total 
theocracy  to  the  opposite  of  total,  anar 
chistic  revolution;  87. 

La  Motte-Houdar  (la  Mothe),  Antoine  de 
(1672-1731).  French  poet  and  literary 
polemist,  deeply  involved  in  the  Querelle  des 
Anciens  et  des  Modernes.  Best  remembered 
to-day  for  his  Fables  (1719);  461. 

Lampe  Merveitteuse,  la.  Feerie-vaudeville  in 
2  acts,  by  Merle,  Carmouche  and  Boniface, 
given  at  the  Panorama-Dramatique  on  13th 
September  1822;  422. 

Landriani,  Paolo  (b.  Milan  1755;  d.  Milan 
1839).  Author  of  Osservazloni  sui  difetti 
prodotti  net  teatri  dalla  cattiva  costruzione 
del  palco  scenico  ...  (Milan  1815).  Theatre- 
architect  and  stage-designer.  His  pupils 
included  Sanquirico  and  Perego;  428. 

Laorens  =  Jean-Baptiste  Reinolds  (pseud.  J.-B. 
Guinan-Laoureins),-  author  of  tne  Tableau  de 
Rome  vers  la  fin  de  1814  (Brussels  1816);  276. 

La  Rochefoucauld,  Francois,  due  de  (1613- 
1680).  French  soldier,  writer  and  moralist, 
chiefly  remembered  for  his  Maximes  (1665); 
461. 

Las  Cases,  Emmanuel -Auguste-Dieudonne - 
Joseph,  comte  de  (b.  Revel  1766;  d.  Passy 
1842).  French  historian  of  Spanish  origin*. 
Originally  a  naval  officer,  he  became  an 
administrator  under  Napoleon,  and  accom 
panied  him  to  St.  Helena,  until  expelled  by 
Hudson  Lowe.  His  Memoires  (originally 
produced  in  English)  were  published  in 
Brussels  in  1818;  but  his  major  work  is  the 
Memorial  de  Sainte-Hetene,  ou  Journal  ou 
se  trouve  consigne",  jour  par  jourt  ce  qu*a  dit 
et  fait  Napoleon  durant  dix-huit  mois  ... 
(Paris,  8  vols.,  1823);  85,  325,  376. 

Lauzun,  Armand-Louis  de  Gontaut,  due  de 
Biron  et  de  (b.  Paris  1747;  guillotined  1793). 
French  general  who  took  pan  in  the  Ameri 
can  War  of  Independence  (1778);  his  failure 
as  commander  of  the  republican  forces  in  la 
Vendee  occasioned  his  downfall.  The 
Memoires  de  M.  le  due  de  Lauzun  were  pub 
lished  in  Paris  in  1822;  199. 

Lavoisier,  Antoine-Laurent  (b.  Paris  1743; 
guillotined  1794).  French,  chemist  and  physi 
ologist.  He  is  best  remembered  for  his  work 
on  the  analysis  and  isolation  of  gases;  but 
his  enquiring  mind  took  Mm  into  all  branches 
of  his  chosen  science;  124,  125. 

Lebrun,  Charles  (b.  Paris  1619;  d.  Paris  1690). 
Famous  French  painter,  who  was  a  proteg6 
of  Colbert,  and  one  of  the  leading  figures  of 
the  classical  tradition.  He  was  largely 
responsible  for  superintending  the  decoration 
•of  Versailles;  170. 

Le  Brunei,  Jean-Joseph  Mira,  known  as 
(b.  Paris  1766;  d.  Fontainebleau  1853). 
French  actor,  whose  debut  was  made  at 
Mantes  in  1790.  Known  as  le  Roi  de  la 
Betise.  Le  Brunei's  career  readied  its  climax 
between  1814  and  1820;  412. 


508 


LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 


Lcchi  family.  A  vast  and  notable  family  of 
soldiers  and  scholars  from  Brescia,  including 
Signora  Gherardi  (#.v.);  the  Contessina 
Lechi  of  Brescia,  a  Spanish  lady,  who,  in  her 
earlier  career  had  been  the  mistress  of 
Joseph  II  and  the  wife  of  Antonio  Lamberti; 
and  the  Generals  Giuseppe  and  Teodoro 
Lechi.  See  Stendhal,  Journal,  vol.  iv,  pp. 
256-8;  also  Cantfc,  op.  dr.;  132, 135,  229,  230. 

Legallois,  Mademoiselle.  Ballet  dancer;  205. 

Le  Kain  (Henri-Louis  Cain,  known  as)  (b. 
Paris  1728;  d.  Paris  1778).  French  tragic 
actor.  The  son  of  a  goldsmith,  Le  Kain 
became  a  protegd  of  Voltaire,  and  dominated 
the  Parisian  stage  from  1750  to  1770.  He  was 
responsible  for  introducing  some  element  of 
realism  into  the  classical  tradition;  308,  318, 
319. 

Lemercier,  Louis-Jean-N6pomucene  (b.  Paris 
1771;  d.  Paris  1840).  French  critic  and 
dramatist  of  the  revolutionary  and  Napole 
onic  periods.  He  is  best  known  for  his 
historical  dramas,  Charlemagne  (1816)  and 
Christophe  Colomb  (1809),  and  for  the  first 
historical  comedy  on  the  French  stage,  Pinto, 
ou  la  Journee  d'une  Conspiration  (5  acts  in 
prose,  An  VIII).  His  other  plays  include: 
Plaute,  ou  la  Comedie  Latine  (3  acts,  verse, 
1808);  and  Agamemnon  (tragedy,  5  acts, 
1794);  99,  274. 

Leo,  Leonardo  Ortensio  Salvatore  de  (b.  San- 
Vito  degli  Schiavi  1694;  d.  Naples  1744). 
Italian  composer  who  studied  in  Naples,  and 
made  his  operatic  debut  with  Pisistrato 
(1714).  His  fame  rests  largely  on  church- 
music  and  comic  opera;  his  best-known  work 
is  probably  Demofoonte  (San-Carlo,  Naples, 
1741);  18,  116,  119,  120. 

Leopold  II  (b.  Vienna  1747;  d.  Vienna  1792). 
Grand-Duke  of  Tuscany  in  1763;  Emperor 
in  1790.  Son  of  Francis  I  and  Maria- 
Theresa.  A  comparatively  enlightened  despot 
and  liberal  reformer;  186. 

Lepeintre.  A  family  of  French  actors,  including 
Charles-Emmanuel  (1785-1854),  a  comedian 
notable  for  his  puns  and  impromptu  wit;  and 
his  brother  Emmanuel-Augustin  (1788- 
1847),  who  was  short  and  fat,  and  a  comic 
dramatist  as  well  as  a  first-class  clown;  217. 

LePeletier,rae.  See  Theatres:  Opera. 

Lesage,  Alain-Ren6  (b.  Sarzeau  1668;  d. 
Boulogne-sur-mer  1747).  French  dramatist, 
novelist  and  translator,  best  known  for  his 
satirical  comedy  Turcaret  (1709),  and  his 
great  picaresque  novel  Gil  Bias  de  Santillane 
(1715-1735);  442. 

Lespinasse,  Mademoiselle  Julie-Jeanne- 
Eleonore  de  (b.  Lyon  1732;  d.  Paris  1776). 
An  illegitimate  child,  she  lived  for  many 
years  a  humiliating  existence,  and  in  1754-64 
she  was  companion  to  Madame  du  Deffand. 
Visitors  to  the  latter's  salon,  however,  gradu 
ally  discovered  that  the  companion  was  as 
remarkable  as  the  hostess,  and  soon  her  own 
salon  was  the  glittering  rival  of  that  of  her 
erstwhile  mistress.  Her  Lettres  ecrites  depuis 
Vannee  1773  jusqu'a  Vannee  1776  (2  vols., 
Paris  1809)  were  written  to  her  lover,  le 
comte  de  Guibert  fa.v.);  198,  456-463. 

Lesueur,  Jean-Francois  (b.  Drucat-Plessiel 
1760;  d.  Paris  1837).  French  composer, 
strongly  influenced  by  Sacchini.  He  was  a 
favourite  of  Napoleon,  and  professor  of 
composition  at  the  Academic  in  1818,  where 
he  was  an  outstanding  teacher.  His  most 
successful  work,  Ossian,  ou  Les  Bardes  (1804) 


earned  its  composer  the  Legton  d'honneur: 
385. 

Lettere  Sirmiensi  (political  pamphlet).  See 
Apostoli. 

Lettres  sur  Vltalie  (essays).   See  de  Brasses. 

Levasseur,  Nicolas-Prosper  (b.  Bresles  1791; 
d.  Paris  1871).  French  bass,  trained  under 
Garat  at  the  Paris  Conservatoire.  Debut  in 
Gretry's  la  Caravane  (1813).  The  mainstay  of 
the  Italiens  and  the  Opera  from  1827  to  1853, 
he  created  rdles  in  both  le  Comte  Ory  and 
Guillaume  Tell;  182,  220,  316,  417,  420. 

Liparini  (Lipparini),  Signorina  Catterina. 
Italian  soprano  of  minor  importance. 
Member  of  the  original  cast  of  Matilde  di 
Shabran;  384,  414. 

Lisbeth  (op^era).  See  Gretry 

Livy.  Latin  historian,  born  at  Padua  (59  B.C.- 
A.D.  19);  331. 

Locke,  John  (b.  Wrington  1632;  d.  Gates  1704). 
English  philosopher,  whose  thought  was  of 
capital  importance  in  the  development  of 
French  liberal  ideas  in  the  XVIIIth  century. 
Best  known  for  his  Essay  Concerning  Human 
Understanding  (transl.  by  Coste,  1700); 

Logroscino  (Lo  Groscino),  Bonifazio  Niccote 
(b.  Bitonto  1698;  d.  Palermo).  Italian  com 
poser,  who  studied  in  Naples  under  Perugino 
and  Gaetano  Veneziano.  According  to 
Grove,  his  finales  show  no  structural  advance 
over  those  of  Leo;  119,  193,  292. 

Lodoiska  (opera).  See  Mayr. 

Lope  de  Vega  Carpio,  Feliz  (b.  Madrid  1562; 
d.  Madrid  1635).  Spanish  dramatist  of 
marvellous  fertility,  over  400  of  whose  plays 
(mainly  historical  and  romanesque  comedies 
or  tragi-comedies)  have  survived;  9,  195. 

Louis  IX  (tragedy).  See  Ancelot.  There  is  also  a 
play  by  Lemercier:  Louis  IX  en  Egypte 
(August  1821). 

Louis  XI.  King  of  France  1461-1483.  A  sinister 
and  cruel,  but  exceedingly  capable  monarch* 
85. 

Louis  XIV.  King  of  France  1643-1715;  241 
248,  294,  437,  470. 

Louis  XV.  King  of  France  1715-1774;  116, 160, 
288,  293,  296,  319. 

Louis  XVI.  King  of  France  from  1774  until  he 
was  guillotined  in  1793;  199. 

Louis  XVin.  King  of  France  1814-1815  and 
1815-1824.  His  reign  was  interrupted  by 
Napoleon's  return  from  Elba;  294. 

Louvet  de  Couperet  (Couperay,  Couvrai), 
Jean-Baptiste  (b.  Paris  1760;  d.  Paris  1797). 
French  writer  and  politician.  He  was  still 
young  when  he  made  his  reputation  with  the 
famous  Aventures  du  Chevalier  de  Faublas 
(1787-9).  As  a  politician,  he  was  chief  orator 
of  the  Girondins,  and  one  of  the  few  leading 
members  of  the  party  to  escape  the  fury  of 
Robespierre,  thanks  to  the  ingenuity  of  his 
beloved  Lodoiska;  184. 

Louvois.  See  Theatres. 

Lovendhal  (Loewendahl),  Ulrich-Friedrich- 
Valdemar,  comte  de  (b.  Hamburg  1700; 
d.  Paris  1755).  Danish  soldier  in  the  Imperial 
Armies,  later  a  Marshal  of  France  (Siege  of 
Berg-op-Zoom  1747).  Loewendahl  was  not 
only  one  of  the  greatest  soldiers  of  his  time, 
but  a  considerable  scholar  as  well;  319. 

Lowther,  William,  3rd  Earl  of  (1787-1872). 
English  politician  and  patron  of  the  arts,  who 
spent  large  sums  on  the  Italian  opera  in 
London,  and  became  an  administrator  of  the 
King's  Theatre.  Disraeli  describes  him  as  "a 


INDEX  AND  TABLE  OF  REFERENCES 


509 


man  with  every  ability,  except  the  ability  to 

make  his  powers  useful  to  mankind";  423. 
Loyola,   St  Ignatius   (Inigo   de   Loyola)   (b. 

Guipuzcoa  1491;  d.  Rome  1556).    Spanish 

soldier    and    theologian,    founder    of   the 

Company  of  Jesus  (1540);  326. 
Lucio  Silla  (opera).  See  Mozart. 
Luther,  Martin  (b.  Eisleben  1483;  d.  Eisleben 

1546).  German  reformer  and  hymnologist; 

167. 

Macbeth  (tragedy).   See  Shakespeare. 

Machiavelli,  Niccold  (b.  Florence  1469;  d. 
Florence  1527).  Italian  statesman  and  writer, 
secretary  of  the  Florentine  government.  If 
Machiavelli  is  best  known  for  his  political 
treatise  The  Prince  (1513,  pub.  1531),  his 
purely  literary  works  also  reveal  a  remark 
able  genius,  notably  his  satirical  comedy 
La  Mandragola  (1513);  106,  447. 

Macpherson,  James  (b.  Ruthven  1738;  d. 
Belleville  House  1796).  Scottish  scholar  and 
man  of  letters,  famous  as  the  perpetrator  of 
the  greatest  literary  fraud  of  all  time,  when 
(1760-63)  he  published  a  series  of  "ancient 
bardic  poems"  which  he  claimed  to  be  the 
work  of  the  ancient  Scottish  poet  "Ossian". 
These  poems,  the  exquisite  distillation  of  pre- 
romanticism,  took  Europe  by  storm;  355, 
377,  379,  455. 

Magalon,  Jean-Denis.  French  journalist.  See 
note  to  p.  198;  198. 

Magic  Flute  (opera).  See  Mozart. 

Mahomet  (tragedy).  See  Voltaire. 

Mainvielle-Fodor,  Madame.  SeeFodor,Madame 

Maire  du  Palais,  le  (tragedy).  See  Ancelot. 

Majer,  Andrea  (b.  Venice  1765;  d.  Padua 
1837).  Italian  amateur  musician  and  painter, 
known  for  three  small  works  on  musical 
theory;  Discorso  intorno  alle  vicende  della 
musica  Italiana  (Rome  1819);  Discorso  sulla 
origine,  progress!  e  stato  attuale  della  musica 
Italiana  (Padua  1821);  Sulla  conoscenza  che 
aveano  gli  antichi  del  contrappunto  (Venice 
1822);  97,  194. 

Malanotte,  Adelaida  (b.  Verona  1785;  d.  1832). 
Italian  contralto  of  aristocratic  birth;  debut 
in  Verona,  1806.  Rossini  made  her  reputation 
when  he  wrote  Tancredi  for  her  voice.  She 
retired  in  1821;  54,  328,  411. 

Malbrouck  s'en  va-t-en  guerre.  French  nursery 
song  of  XVHth-XVIHth  century,  vastly 
popular  after  1780;  109. 

Mandragola,  la  (comedy).   See  Machiavelli. 

Manfredini,  Elisabetta.  Italian  singer,  member 
of  the  original  casts  of  Tancredi,  Sigismondo 
and  Adelaida  diSorgogna;  328, 410, 411, 412, 
413. 

Manfrocci  (Manfroce),  Nicola  (b.  Parma  1791 ; 
d.  Naples  1813).  A  brilliant  composer  in  the 
Neapolitan  tradition,  who,  but  for  his  pre 
mature  death,  threatened  to  rival  Rossini, 
a  pupil  of  Zingarelli,  he  had  completed  two 
operas  when  he  died;  26,  326. 

Manners  and  Customs  of  the  Indian  Nations 
(treatise).  See  Heckewaelder. 

Manzi,  Signora.  Singer  at  the  San-Carlo 
theatre,  member  of  the  original  casts  of 
Ricciardo  and  la  Donna  del  Logo;  413. 

Manzoni,  Alessandro  (b.  Milan  1785;  d.  Milan 
1873).  Italian  poet,  novelist  and  dramatist, 
descended  from  the  philosopher  Beccaria. 
His  best-known  works  include  a  novel, 
/  Promessi  Sposi  (1827-40);  two  tragedies, 
II  Conte  di  Carmagnola  (1820)  and  VAdelche 
(1820-22);  and  his  ode  on  the  death  of 


Napoleon,  77  Cinque  Maggio  (1821);  158-9, 
386. 

Maometto,  il  (opera  seria).  See  Winter;  also 
Voltaire. 

MAOMETTO  SECONDO.  Opera  by  Rossini, 
libretto  by  Cesare  della  Valle,  Duke  of 
Ventignano.  Original  version  of  Le  Siege  de 
Corinthe.  First  performed  Naples,  3rd 
December  1820.  Overture  added  in  Venice, 
1823;  129,  168,  332,  361,  383-384,  395,  413. 

Mara,  Madame  Gertrud  Elisabeth,  nee 
Schmaehling  (b.  Cassel  1749;  d.  Revel  1833). 
Great  German  soprano  of  the  Xynith 
century,  who  began  as  an  infant  prodigy  on 
the  violin.  In  1782,  she  came  to  Paris,  where 
she  became  the  rival  of  la  Todi;  and  she 
dominated  the  stages  of  Paris  and  London 
between  1782  and  1802;  366. 

Marais,  Theatre  du.  See  Theatres. 

Marcellus,  Louis-Marie-Auguste  Demartin  du 
Tyrac,  comte  de  (1776-1841).  French  poli 
tician  and  journalist  of  extreme  royalist 
opinions,  as  was  his  son  Marie-Louis  (1795- 
1865);  87. 

Marcellus,  Marcus  Claudius  (268-208  B.C.). 
Roman  general  who  became  five  times 
consul;  319. 

Marchande  de  Goujons  (Id),  ou  Les  Trois  Bossus. 
Vaudeville  in  1  act  by  d'Allarde  and  Armand 
d'Artois.  Theatre  des  Varietes,  31st  March 
1821;  253. 

Marchesi,  Lodovico  (b.  Milan  1755;  dL  Milan 
1829).  Italian  male  soprano.  Debut  in  Rome, 
1774.  Known  as  the  last  of  the  great  castrati, 
Marchesi  was  one  of  the  finest  singers  in 
Europe  until  his  retirement  in  1806;  46,  111, 
326,  335,  341,  344,  372,  376. 

Marcolini,  Marietta.  Italian  singer  who  made 
her  debut  c.  1805.  In  1809  she  was  singing  at 
la  Scala.  In  1811,  she  met  Rossini,  and 
created  rdles  in  four  of  his  major  operas. 
Retired  c.  1818;  66,  76,  81,  84,  85,  91,  94, 
328,361,407,410,411,412. 

Man,  Luigi.  Italian  tenor  who  sang  the  title 
part  in  Aureliano;  411,  426. 

Mariani,  Lucio.  Member  of  the  original  cast  of 
Semiramide;  414. 

Mariani,  Rosa.  Contralto,  member  of  the 
original  cast  of  Semiramide;  322,  414,  426. 

Marie-Antoinette,  Archduchess  of  Austria, 
Queen  of  France  (1755-1793);  200,  201. 

Marivaux,  Pierre  Carlet  de  Chamblain  de 
(b.  Paris  1688;  d.  Paris  1763).  French 
dramatist,  novelist  and  journalist,  creator  of 
the  sentimental  novel  in  France  (La  Vie  de 
Marianne,  1731-41)  and  of  numerous  exqui 
site  and  witty  comedies;  143,  348,  459. 

Marmontel,  Jean-Francois  (b.  Bprt  1723; 
d.  Abloville  1799).  French  moralist,  drama 
tist  and  librettist.  In  the  contest  between 
Gluck  and  Piccinni,  he  sided  with  the  latter, 
and  wrote  an  Essai  sur  la  Revolution  de  la 
Musique  en  France  (1777).  Music  also  plays 
a  large  part  in  his  Memoires  d'un  Pere  pour 
servir  a  VInstruction  de  ses  Enfants  (1792- 
1804).  His  many  libretti  include  La  Fausse 
Magie  (music  by  Gretry,  1st  Feb.  1775);  but 
to  the  general  public  he  is  still  best  known  for 
his  Contes  Moraux  (1761-1771);  75,  198, 199, 
236,  285,  316.  N  o  _ 

Mariage  de  Figaro,  le  (opera).     See  Mozart. 

(Comedy)  see  Beaumarchais. 
Mars,  Mademoiselle  (Anne-Francolse-Hippo- 
lyte  Boutet,  known  as)  (b.  Paris  1779 ;  d.  Paris 
1847).  French  actress,  daughter  of  the  actor 
Monvel.  Debut  at  the  Theatre  Feydeau*  1794. 


510 


LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 


One  of  the  greatest  glories  of  the  French 
stage,  she  was  the  finest  interpreter  of  the 
early  romantic  dramatists;  284,  319,  348,  351. 

Marseillaise  la.  French  patriotic  song,  written 
on  24th  April  1792  by  an  engineer-captain, 
Claude-Joseph  Rouget  de  Lisle.  The  original 
version  differed  slightly  from  that  which  is 
now  known;  10. 

Martin,  Jean-Blaise  (b.  Paris  1769;  d.  La 
Ronciere  1837),  Famous  French  comic 
baritone,  febut  1788  in  Paesiello's  Le  Mar 
quis  de  Tulipano.  A  good  voice,  but  lacking  in 
style.  Administrator  of  the  Opera-Comique 
from  1801  until  his  retirement  in  1823;  257. 

Martini  il  Tedesco  (Johann  Paul  Aegidius 
Schwarzendorf,  known  as)  (b.  Freistadt  1741 ; 
d.  Paris  1816).  German  organist  and  com 
poser,  who  left  some  ten  operas,  and  much 
miscellaneous  vocal  music,  including  the 
song  "Plaisir  d'Amour";  26. 

Massimino,  Frederigo  (b.  Turin  1775;  d.  Paris 
1858).  Famous  teacher  of  singing,  who 
settled  in  Paris  from  1814.  Author  of  the 
Nouvelle  Methode  pour  VEnseignement  de  la 
Musique  (Paris,  1819-20);  129,  181,  201,  204. 

MATILDE  DI  SHABRAN,  OSSfo  BELLEZZA  E  CUOR  DI 

FERRO.  Opera  by  Rossini.  Libretto  partly  by 
Ferretti;  music  partly  by  Pacini.  Given  in 
Rome  at  the  Teatro  Apollo  on  24th  February 
1821,  conducted  oy  Paganini;  384,  413. 

Matrimonio  Segreto,  il  (opera).   See  Cimarosa. 

Mattei,  Father  Stanislao  (b.  Bologna  1750; 
d.  Bologna  1825).  Italian  composer  and 
teacher,  pupil  of  Giambattista  Martini. 
Professor  of  counterpoint  at  the  Liceo  di 
Bologna  from  1804.  His  pupils  included 
Rossini,  Morlaccbi  and  Donizetti;  46. 

Maurepas,  Jean-Frederic  Phelippeaux,  comte 
de  (1701-1781).  French  statesman  and 
minister  to  Louis  XV  and  Louis  XVI;  293. 

Mayr  (Mayer),  Johann  Simon  (b.  Mendorf 
1763 ;  d.  Bergamo  1845).  Italian  composer  of 
German  origin.  A  prolific  composer  who 
probably  influenced  Rossini  more  than 
Stendhal  cares  to  admit,  A  full  list  of  his 
works  is  given  in  Fetis.  See  also  H.  Kretzsch- 
mar,  Die  Musikgeschichtliche  Bedeutung  S. 
Mayrs  (Leipzig  1904);  17-23,  25,  27,  28,  32, 
33,  51,  59,  119,  120,  165,  182,  320,  336,  354, 
377,  397,  442. 
Works  referred  to  include : 
Adelasia  edAleramo  (opera,  seria).  La  Scala, 

December  1806;  19,  22. 
Che  Origmali!  (farsa).  San-Benedetto  1798; 

Cora  (Alonzo  e  Cora)  (opera  seria).    La 

Scala  1803;  22,  32,  165,  442. 
Due  Giornate,  le  (opera  semi-seria).    La 

Scala  1801;  17. 
Elena  e  Costantino  (opera  seria).  La  Scala 

1816;  22. 
Elisa   (opera  semi-seria)*   San-Benedetto 

1804;  22. 
Ginevra  diScozia  (opera  seria).  Trieste  1801 

(for  the  opening  of  the  new  opera- 
house);  18,  320. 

Lodoiska  (opera  seria).  La  Fenice  1796;  17. 
Medea  in  Corinto  (opera  seria).  La  Fenice 

1813;  22,  165,  179,  364,  369,  442. 
Misteri  Eleusini,  i  (opera  seria).  La  Scala 

1802;  17. 
Rosa  bianco  e  la  Rosa  rossa,  la  (opera 

seria).  Genoa  1813;  20,  54,  336,  369. 
Medea  (opera).   See  Mayr. 
M&dee  (tragedy).  See  Corneille. 


Medici  family.  Ancient  Guelf  family  of  Flor 
ence  which  rose  to  power  in  the  early  XTVth 
century.  The  line  died  out  in  1737;  82. 

Memoir es  de  Goldoni.  See  Goldoni. 

Me'moires  de  la  Cour  du  Pape.  See  Burckhardt. 

Me'moires  de  Las  Cases.   See  Las  Cases. 

Memoir  es  [de  NapoUon}.   See  Bonaparte. 

Mtmoires  du  Comte  d'O  ...  See  Schiller. 

Me'moires  d*un  Colonel  de  Hussards,  les. 
Comedy-vaudeville  in  1  act  by  Scribe  and 
Duveyrier.  Theatre  du  Gymnase-Dratnatique, 
21st  February  1822;  236. 

Memorial  de  Sainte-Helene.  See  Las  Cases; 
Bonaparte. 

Mercadante,  Giuseppe  Saverio  Raffaele  (b. 
Altamura  1795;  d.  Naples  18JO).  Italian 
composer  who  was  a  favourite  pupil  of 
Zingarelli.  Debut  with  I'Apoteosi  d'Ercole 
(San-Carlo  1819).  His  main  reputation  rests 
on  Elisa  e  Claudio  (La  Scala  1821).  A  prolific 
and  original  composer,  he  was  closely 
associated  with  Rossini  and  Meyerbeer;  120, 
182,  415. 

Merchant  of  Venice,  The  (drama).  See  Shake 
speare. 

Meri,  Mademoiselle  de.  See  Demeri. 

Mesdames  de  France.  The  aunts  of  Louis  XVI, 
who  received  guitar  and  harp  tuition  from 
Beaumarchajs;  198. 

Metastasio  (Pietro  Antonio  Domenico  Bona- 
ventura  Trapassi,  known  as)  (b.  Rome  1698; 
d,  Vienna  1782).  Italian  poet  and  librettist, 
who  lived  in  Vienna  from  1730.  His  libretti 
were  among  the  most  popular  in  the  XVIIIth 
century,  some  being  set  over  seventy  times 
by  different  composers.  His  Artaserse  (1730) 
was  used  by  Vinci;  72,  193,  195,  274. 
Meyerbeer  (Jakob  Liebmann  Beer,  known  as) 
(b.  Berlin  1791;  d.  Paris  1864).  German- 
Jewish  composer,  son  of  a  wealthy  banker. 
He  was  trained  as  a  pianist.  His  main  operas 
include  //  Crociato  in  Egitto  (1824);  Robert  le 
Diable  (1831)  andLe-s  Huguenots  (1836);  182, 
186,  415. 

Michelangelo  Buonarroti  (1475-1564).  Italian 
painter,  sculptor,  architect,  poet,  inventor, 
etc.;  51,  129,  183,  250,  283,  309,  310,  468. 
Micheroux,  le  Chevalier  Alexandra  (b.  Naples 
1792;  d.  Venice  1846).  The  son  of  Antoine 
Micheroux,  of  Liege,  who  had  become  the 
unofficial  Foreign  Minister  of  Naples, 
Alexandra  was  a  notable  amateur  musician, 
dabbling  also  in  liberal  politics.  He  was  prob 
ably  the  lover  of  Giuditta  Pasta,  at  whose 
house  he  met  Stendhal;  318. 
Mignet,  Francois-Auguste-Marie  (b.  Aix  1796; 
d.  Paris  1884).  French  historian  and  archi 
vist  of  the  Ministfcre  des  Affaires  Etrangeres. 
Best  known  for  his  Histoire  de  la  Revolution 

Francaise  (2  vols.,  1824);  87. 
Millico,  Giuseppe  (b.  Terlizzi  1739;  d.  Naples 
1802).  Italian  male  soprano,  one  of  the  great 
est  bel  canto  singers  of  the  XVIIIth  century, 
and  a  friend  of  Gluck.  He  also  left  three 
operas  of  his  own  composition;  341. 
Mirabeau,    Honord-Gabriel-Victor    Riquetti, 
comte  de  (b.  Bignon  1749;  d.  Paris  1791). 
French  statesman,  and  the  greatest  orator 

produced   by   the   revolution,   which   was 

seriously  affected  by  his  untimely  death  in 
1791;  293,  363. 
Miroir  (le")   des  Spectacles^   des  Lettres,   des 

Mcsurs  et  des  Arts  (1821-1823).    One  of  the 

wittiest  and  most  popular  periodicals  of  the 

Restoration,    edited    by    Jouy,     Arnault, 

Dupaty,  etc.  As  from  16th  July  1823,  it 


INDEX  AND  TABLE  OF  REFERENCES 


511 


changed  its  title  to  La  Pandore  (1823-1828); 
43,  97,  143,  284,  292,  398,  405. 

Misanthropic  et Repentir  (drama).  See  Kotzebue. 

Misteri  Eleusini,  i  (opera).  See  Mayr. 

Mitridate  re  diPonto  (opera).  See  Mozart. 

Moliere  (Jean-Baptiste  Poquelin,  known  as) 
(1622-1673).  French  comic  dramatist.  His 
play  Dom  Juan,  ou  le  Festin  de  Pierre  (the 
basis  of  Mozart's  Don  Giovanni)  was  per 
formed  in  February  1665;  191,  202,  458. 

Molinara,  la  (opera).  See  Paesiello,  I'Amor 
Contrastato. 

Molinari.  Dancer  at  la  Scala;  438. 

Mombelli,  Domenico  (b.  Villanova  1751; 
d.  Bologna  1835J.  First  tenor  of  the  San- 
Carlo  from  1783,  with  a  reputation  second 
only  to  that  of  the  elder  Davide.  Was  still 
'  '  ;  successfully  in  1812;  132,  133,  135, 


Mombelli,  Vincenzina  Vigand.  Wife  of 
Domenico  and  sister  of  Salvatore  Vigand 
(#.v.).  Partly  responsible  for  the  libretto  of 
Demetrio  e  Polibio;  135,  409. 

Mombelli,  Ester  (b.  Naples  1794;  retired  1827, 
upon  her  marriage  to  Count  Gritti).  Soprano, 
daughter  of  Domenico,  who  made  her  debut 
in  Demetrio  e  Polibio  (1812).  She  earned  her 
greatest  success  in  la  Cenerentola;  132,  133, 
135,  137,  252,  328,  409,  414,  426. 

Mombelli,  Marianna  (Annetta)  (b.  Naples 
1795;  retired  in  1817,  upon  her  marriage  to 
Angelo  Lambertini,  a  journalist).  Daughter 
of  Domenico,  she  made  her  debut  in  Deme 
trio  e  Polibio  (1812);  132,  133,  135,  136,  137, 
328,  409. 

Moncada,  Carlo.  Italian  singer,  member  of  the 
original  cast  of  Matilde  di  Shabran;  414. 

Moncada  (Moncade),  Francisco,  Marchese 
d'Aytona  (b.  Valencia  1586;  d.  Cleves  1635). 
Spanish  commander-in-chief  in  Flanders, 
author  of  the  Expedition  de  los  Catalanes  y 
Aragonenses  contra  Turcos  y  Griegos  (1623); 
235. 

Mondonville,  Jean-Joseph  Casanea  de  (b. 
Narbonne  1711;  d.  Belleville  1772)..  French 
violinist  and  composer;  debut  with  Isbe 
(1742).  Director  of  the  Concerts  Spirituels 
(1755-1762);  76. 

Monelli,  Raffaele.  Venetian  tenor,  member  of 
the  original  casts  of  ringanno  felice  and  la 
Scala  di  Seta;  261,  410. 

Monelli,  Savino.  Tenor  at  la  Scala,  member  of 
the  original  cast  of  la  Gazza  ladra;  412, 413. 

Monrose  (Claude-Louis-S6raphin  Barizain, 
known  as)  (b.  Besancon  1783;  d.  Paris  1843). 
French  actor,  debut  at  the  Comedie  Francaise 
in  1815.  One  of  the  great  interpreters  of 
Moliere  and  Beaumarchais.  Retired  in  1842. 
83,  217,  248. 

Monsigny,  Pierre-Alexandre  (b.  Fauquem- 
bergue  1729;  d.  Paris  1817).  Amateur 
violinist  and  composer  of  aristocratic  origins. 
Debut  with  Les  Aveux  Indiscrets  (1759).  His 
greatest  works  come  from  his  collaboration 
with  Sedaine,  notably  Rose  et  Colas  (1764) 
and  Le  Deserteur  (1769);  202. 

Montaigne,  Michel  de  (1533-1592).  French 
writer  and  moralist,  author  of  the  famous 
Essais;  461. 

Montano  et  Stephanie  (comic  opera).  See  Berton. 

Montesquieu,  Charles  de  Secondat,  Baron  de 
(1689-1755).  French  philosopher,  wit  and 
historian,  best  known  for  his  political  treat 
ise,  r Esprit  des  Lois  (1748)  and  for  his  history 
de  la  Grandeur  et  de  la  Decadence  desRomains; 
102, 199,  200. 


Monti,  Vincenzo  (b.  Alfonsine  1754;  d.  Milan 
1828).  Italian  poet,  recognized  leader  of  the 
neo-classic  revival.  During  the  troubled 
period  in  which  he  lived,  Monti  changed  his 
allegiance  repeatedly;  but  the  quality  of  his 
verse,  and  his  profound  love  for  Italy  re 
mained  intact;  91,  107. 

Monvel  (Jacques-Marie  Boutet,  known  as) 
(b.  Luneville  1745;  d.  Paris  1812).  French 
actor,  debut  at  the  Comedie  Francaise  in.  1770. 
Closely  associated  with  Talma,  especially 
during  the  revolution.  He  was  also  a  drama 
tist  and  librettist,  and  father  of  Mile  Mars; 
284. 

Moore,  Thomas  (b.  Dublin  1779;  d.  Sloperton 
1852).  Irish  poet,  musician,  and  singer,  who 
owed  his  early  successes  as  much  to  his  mag 
nificent  voice  as  to  his  poetical  talent.  His 
fame  to-day  rests  on  the  Irish  Melodies 
(1807-1834)  rather  than  on  the  once  vastly 
popular  oriental  epic  Lalla-Rookh  (1817); 

12,  454. 

Morandi,  Rosa.  Italian  soprano,  member  of 
the  original  cast  of  la  Cambiale  and  of 
Eduardo.  Sang  at  the  King's  Theatre, 
London,  1721-2.  One  of  Rossini's  first 
supporters;  410,  413. 

Morellet,  Andre  (b.  Lyon  1727;  d.  Paris  1819). 
French  philosopher  and  writer,  a  friend  of 
Diderot  and  of  Madame  Geoffrin.  His 
Memoires  sur  U  XVttle  siecle  et  la  Revolution, 
a  valuable  study  of  contemporary  person 
alities,  appeared  in  1821;  198. 

Morghen,  Raffaello  (b.  Portici  1761;  d. 
Florence  1833).  Italian  engraver,  who 
studied  in  Rome  under  Volpato,  and  in  1794 
founded  his  own  school  in  Florence;  320. 

Mori,  Signorina.  Singer  engaged  at  the  King's 
Theatre,  London,  in  1821  and  at  the  Louvois 
in  1823;  417. 

Morlacchi  (Morlachi)  di  Perugia,  Francesco 
(b.  Perugia  1784;  d.  Innsbruck  1841). 
Italian  composer  and  conductor.  Studied 
under  Zingarelli  and  S.  Mattei,  debut  with 
//  Simoncino  (1803).  In  1811,  he  was 
appointed  to  Dresden,  where  he  tormented 
the  life  out  of  Weber.  His  best-known  work 
is  Tebaldo  ed  Jsolina  (Dresden  1820);  120, 
182,  194,  255,  350,  415. 

Morning  Chronicle,  The.  One  of  the  leading 
metropolitan  morning  papers  of  the  early 
XTXtb  century.  Founded  1793;  450. 

Mosca,  Guiseppe  (b.  Naples  1772;  d.  Messina 
1839).  Italian  composer.  Studied  at  Loreto 
Conservatoire,  debut  with  Silvia  e  Nardone 
(Rome  1798).  Prolific,  facile,  but  without 
real  genius.  Later  in  life,  Mosca  claimed  to 
have  invented  the  Rossinian  crescendo,  and 
to  have  used  it  in  I  Pretendenti  Delusi  (Milan 
1811);  26,  33,  94,  120,  182,  252.  .  . 

Moscheles,  Ignaz  (b.  Prague  1794;  d.  Leipzig 
1870).  German-Bohemian  virtuoso  pianist 
who  studied  under  SaUeri,  and  first  made  his 
reputation  with  his  Variazionen  uber  den 
Alexandermarsch  (1815).  Lived  largely  in 
London  and  Leipzig;  335.  ^ 

Mosfe  IN  EGITTO  ("azione  tragico-sacra  oy 
Rossini).  Libretto  by  Tottola.  3  acts,  San- 
Carlo,  5th  March  1818.  Later  (1823)  given  in 
London  under  the  title  of  Pietro  VEremita; 

13,  14,  39,  65,  107,  120,  129,  138,  167,  168, 
270,  307-317,  332,  367,  384,  385,  413,  444. 

Mount  Edgecumbe,  Richard,  Earl  of  (b.  Ply 
mouth  1764;.  d.  Richmond  .1839).  English 
amateur  musician,  and  administrator  of  the 
King's  Theatre,  London,  where  his  opera 


512 


LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 


Zenobia  was  performed  in  1800.  Author  of 
Musical  Reminiscences  (London  1825);  424. 
Mozart,  Wolfgang  Amadeus  (b.  Salzburg  1756; 
d.  Vienna  1791).  Austrian  composer;  7,  13, 
17,  18,  25,  27-39,  53,  59,  72,  75,  97,  98,  99, 
101,  120,  123,  129,  136,  138,  143,  144,  148, 
156,  172,  182,  183,  195,  210,  221,  223,  228, 
236,  278,  283,  287,  290,  292,  305,  378,  384, 
387,  393,  394,  400,  407,  455,  467-470. 
The  works  referred  to  include: 

Clemenza  di  Tito,  la  (2  acts,  libr.  by 
Mazzola,  based  on  Metastasio.  Prague 
1791);  384,  469. 

Cost  fan  Tutte,  ossia  La  Scuola  degli 
Amanti  (2  acts,  libr.  by  Da  Ponte. 
Vienna  1790);  13,  38,  468. 
Don  Giovanni,  ossia  II  Dissoluto  punito 
(2  acts,  libr.  by  Da  Ponte.  Prague  1787); 
7,  17,  31-32, 33, 37,  38, 123, 224, 228, 283, 
287,  288,  312,  378,  384,  392,  394,  396, 
400,  407,  468,  469. 

Entfuhrung  aus  dem  Serail,  die  (3  acts,  libr. 
by  G.  Stephanie.  Vienna  1782);  29,  30, 
469. 

Finta    Giardiniera,    la   (3    acts,  libr.    by 
R.  Calzabigi,  adapted  by  M.  Coltellini. 
Munich  1775);  468. 
Finta  Semplice,  la  (3  acts,  libr.  by  Goldoni. 

Salzburg  1769);  467. 

Idomeneo,    Re    di    Creta,    ossia   Ilia    ed 

Idamante  (3  acts,  libr.  by  G.-B.  Varesco 

based  on  Danchet.  Munich  1781);  468. 

Lucio  Silla  (3  acts,  libr.  by  G.  da  Gamerra. 

Milan  1772);  28,  467. 
Mitridate,  Re  di  Ponto  (3  acts,  libr.  by 

V.  A.  Cigna-Santi.  Milan,  1770);  467. 
Nozze  di  Figaro*  le  (4  acts,  libr.  by  Da 
Ponte.  Vienna  1786);  33,  81,  99,  100, 
156,  210,  396,  420,  468. 
Requiem  (1791);  469. 

Schauspieidirektor,  der  ("comedy  with 
music",  1  act,  libr.  by  G,  Stephanie^ 
Vienna  1786);  469. 

Zauberflote,  die  (2  acts,  libr.  by  E.  Schik- 
aneder  and  K.  L.  Gieseke.  Vienna  1791) ; 
33,  469. 

Mullner  (Mulner),  Adolf  (b,  Weissenfels  1774; 
d.  Weissenfels  1829).  German  dramatist, 
one  of  the  earliest  writers  of  plays  based  on 
crime  and  detection.  Leader  of  the  Schick- 
salstr.agodie  movement,  in  which  form  his 
masterpiece  is  Die  Schuld  (1816),  translated 
into  French  by  le  comte  de  Saint-Aulaire 
W Expiation,  1823);  18. 

Murat,  Joachim  (b.  La  Bastide-Murat  1767; 
executed  1815).  Brother-in-law  of  Napoleon, 
and  a  notable  soldier.  From  1808  until  1815 
he  was  King  of  Naples,  but  was  obliged  to 
abandon  his  realm  on  the  fall  of  Napoleon; 
443. 
Musique  mecanique  (de  /a),  et  de  la  Musique 

philosophique  (treatise).  See  Berton. 
Myrrha,  ou  La  Vengeance  de  Venus  (ballet). 
See  Vigan6,  Mm*. 

Naldi,  Signorina,  later  Contessa  di  Sparra. 
Italian  soprano,  daughter  of  the  baritone 
Giuseppe  Naldi  (1770-1820),  Debut  in  1820. 
She  threatened  to  provide  a  rival  in  Paris  for 
la  Pasta  but  retired  early,  in  1823;  24,  82,  83. 

Nazolini  (Nasolini),  Sebastiano  (b.  Piacenza 
1768;  d.  c.  1806),  Italian  composer  who 
worked  chiefly  in  Trieste  and  Naples.  He  left 
some  30  operas,  a  few  of  which  enjoyed  a 
small  popularity  at  the  end  of  the  XVHIth 
century;  26. 


Necker,  Jacques  (b.  Geneva  1732;  d.  Coppet 
1804).  Swiss  financier  of  English  origins. 
Controller  of  French  finances  1777-81  and 
1789-90.  His  daughter  was  later  to  become 
famous  as  Madame  de  Stae'l  (<?.v.);  293. 

Nelson,  Lord  Horatio  (b.  Burnham-Thorpe 
1758;  killed  at  Trafalgar  1805).  English 
admiral.  The  inglorious  incidents  of  Nelson's 
career  in  Italy  are  more  familiar  to  Italian 
than  to  English  historians;  399,  443. 

Nemici  Generosi  (0»  ossia  II  duello  per  compli- 
mento  (opera).  See  Cimarosa. 

Neri,  St  Philip  (b.  Florence  1515;  d.  Rome 
1595).  Founder  of  an  order  of  regular  clergy 
known  as  the  Oratorians,  from  the  site  of  the 
community,  which  was  the  Oratory  of  San- 
Girolamo-della-Carita;  447. 

Nero  (Lucius  Domitius  Nero  Claudius) 
(A.D.  37-68).  Roman  emperor;  207. 

Nicolini.  Totally  forgotten  Italian  composer; 
26,  30,  33. 

Niccolo.  Seelsouard. 

Nicomede  (tragedy).  See  Corneille. 

Nina,  ossia  La  Pazza  per  Amore  (opera).  See 
Paesiello. 

Noblet,  Mademoiselle.  Ballet-dancer.  Danced 
leading  rdles  at  the  King's  Theatre  between 
1821  and  1824;  205. 

Noce  di  Benevento,  il  (ballet).  See  Vigan6. 

Nourrit,  Louis  (b.  Montpellier  1780;  d.  Brunoy 
1 83 1).  French  tenor  and  diamond-merchant. 
Debut  at  the  Grand  Opera  in  Gluck's  Armide. 
A  fine  singer,  but  cold  and  unambitious.  His 
elder  son  Adolphe  (1802-1839),  a  prot6g6  of 
Garcia,  made  his  debut  in  1821,  and  suc 
ceeded  his  father  as  leading  tenor  in  1826; 323. 

Nouvelle  Heloise,  la  (novel).   See  Rousseau. 

Nozzari,  Andrea  (b.  Bergamo  1775;  d.  1832). 
Italian  tenor,  a  pupil  of  Davide  the  elder  and 
Aprile.  Debut  at  Pavia  1794.  His  voice  im 
proved  greatly  towards  middle-age,  and  he 
was  at  the  height  of  his  powers  during  his 
collaboration  with  Rossini  (1815-20).  Retired 
1822;  155,  161,  165,  168,  216,  221,  222,  225, 
228,  269,  311,  354,  377,  378,  382,  383,  412, 
413,  414. 

Nozze  di  Figaro,  le  (opera).  See  Mozart. 

Numa  Pompilius  (ballet).   See  Vigand. 

OCCASIONS  FA  IL  LADRO   (L'),   OSSia  IL  CAMBIO 

BELLA  VALIGIA.  Farsa  by  Rossini.  Libretto  by 
Luigi  Prividali.  Performed  Venice,  24th 
November  1812;  48,  328,  410. 

Ode  sur  la  Mort  de  NapoUon  (poem).  See 
Manzoni,  //  Cinque  Maggio. 

Odeon,  Theatre  de  !'.  See  Theatres. 

Odoardo  e  Cristina  (opera).  See  Eduardo  e 
Cristina. 

Old  Man  of  the  Mountains,  The.  Popular  name 
for  Hassan  ibn  Sabbah,  founder  of  the  sect 
known  as  the  Assassins  (Hashishiri)  in 
Persia,  c.  A.D.  1090;  448. 

Old  Mortality  (novel).  See  Scott. 

Olimpiade,  V  (opera).  See  Pergolese. 

Olivieri.  Italian  violinist  and  singer  attached  to 
the  Mombelli  family  (?  b.  Turin  1763);  135, 
409. 

Opera-Francais.  See  Theatres. 

Opera-Bouffe.   See  Theatres,  Opira-Cpmique. 

Orazii  e  Curiazii,  gli  (opera).    See  Cimarosa. 

Orfeo  ed  Euridice  (opera).    See  Gluck. 

Orgitano,  Raffaele  (b.  Naples  c.  1780;  d.  Paris 
1812).  Italian  composer,  a  pupil  of  Sala.  A 
musician  of  great  promise,  who  had  had  at 
least  two  major  successes  in  opera-buffo 
before  his  early  death;  26,  326,  401. 


INDEX  AND  TABLE  OF  REFERENCES 


513 


Originali,  gli  (opera).  See  Mayr,  Che  Originali! 

Orlandi,  Signor.  Singer  engaged  at  the  San- 
Carlo.  Member  of  the  original  cast  of  La 
Donna  del  Logo;  413. 

Orlandi,  Fernando  (b.  Parma  1777;  d.  Munich 
1840).  Italian  composer,  teacher  and  music 
ologist.  Debut  with  La  Pupitta  scozzese 
(1801).  He  left  about  25  operas,  of  which  the 
most  popular  was  //  Podesta  di  Chioggia 
(1801);  on  Rossini's  appearance,  he  retired 
from  the  unequal  contest,  and  devoted  him 
self  to  teaching;  26. 

Orlando  Furioso  (epic  poem).  See  Ariosto. 

Orofa  Tutto,  I'  (opera).  See  Paer. 

Ortiz:  Le  ultime  Lettere  di  Jacopo  Ortis.  Novel, 
in  the  style  of  Die  Leiden  desjungen  Werthers, 
by  Ugo  Foscolo  (1802);  192, 

Ossian.   See  MacPherson. 

Otelh  (ballet).  See  Vigand. 

OTELLO,  ossia  IL  MORO  DI  VENEZIA.  Opera  in 
3  acts  by  Rossini.  Libretto  by  Francesco 
Berio  di  Salsa,  based  on  Shakespeare. 
Performed  at  Naples,  4th  December  1816; 
38,  39,  65,  97,  98,  99,  100,  101,  117,  118, 
120,  121,  128,  164,  167,  170,  177,  179,  202, 
205,  206-229,  236,  259,  291,  300,  316,  332, 
363,  369,  380,  385,  387,  407,  412,  415. 

Othello  (tragedy).  See  Shakespeare. 

Pacchiarotti  (Pacchierotti),  Gasparo  (b.  Fabri- 
ano  1740;  d.  Padua  1821).  Italian  male 
soprano.  A  pupil  of  Bertoni  in  Venice, 
Pacchiarotti  rapidly  acquired  an  inter 
national  reputation,  which  lasted  until  his 
retirement  in  1792.  Rossini  paid  him  a  visit 
of  homage  in  his  old  age;  11,  318,  326,  341, 
343,  344,  350,  365,  372,  376. 

Paccini,  la.  Italian  singer,  member  of  the 
original  cast  of  //  Turco  in  Italia;  411. 

Paccini  (Pacini),  Giovanni  (b.  Catania  1796: 
d.  Pescia  1867).  Italian  composer,  a  pupil  of 
Marchesi  and  Furlanetto.  Debut  in  1813  with 
Annetta  e  Lucindo  (Milan),  followed  by  42 
other  operas,  including  //  Barone  di  Dolsheim 
(la  Scala,  23rd  Sept.  1818).  One  of  Rossini's 
most  successful  imitators;  120, 182, 196,  391, 
415. 

Paccini,  Luigi  (b.  Pupilio  1767;  d.  Vareggio 
1837).  Italian  buffo  cantante,  originally  a 
tenor,  later  a  bass.  Studied  in  Rome  and 
Naples;  debut  in  1798.  Famous  as  a  comic 
actor,  particularly  in  Milan.  Retired  1820. 
The  father  of  Giovanni;  70,  76, 140-141, 144, 
234,245-248,411. 

Paer,  Ferdinando  (b.  Parma  1771;  d.  Paris 
1839).  Italian  composer  who  worked  mainly 
in  Venice,  Vienna  and  Dresden  until  1807, 
when  he  went  to  Paris.  In  1812  he  succeeded 
Spontini  at  the  Opera  Italien.  Collaborated 
with  Rossini  1824-26.  An  unpleasant 
character,  but  a  composer  of  genuine  talent; 
17,  18,  20,  23-26,  27,  32,  120,  216,  221. 
His  works  include: 

Agnese    di   Fitz-Henry    (Hbr.    based    on 

Amelia  Opie,  The  Father  and  Daughter). 

Ponte  d'Altaro  1809;  24,  25,  186,  216. 

Camilla,  ossia  II  Sotterraneo.  Vienna  1799; 

25,  221,  425,  432. 
Griselda  ossia  La  Virtu  al  Cimento,  Parma 

1798;  24. 

Orofa  Tutto,  /'.  Milan  1793;  24. 
Sargino.  Dresden  1803;  24,  32. 

Paer,  Francesca,  nee  Riccardi  (b.  Parma  1778; 
retired  1808).  Italian  soprano,  wife  of  Ferdi- 
nando.D(#>wf,Brescial794.Separatedfromher 
husband  and  retired  to  Bologna  in  1808;  25. 


Paesiello  (Paisiello),  Giovanni  (b.  Taranto 
1740;  d.  Naples  1816).  A  pupil  of  Durante 
in  Naples,  Paesiello  worked  mainly  in 
Naples  and  St  Petersburg.  "Director  of 
National  Music'*  under  the  republican 
government,  he  lost  favour  at  the  restoration, 
and  retired  from  composition  in  1803;  3, 
4,  11,  16,  28,  33,  49,  65,  118,  119,  120,  145, 
171,  172,  173,  174,  177,  193,  237,  292,  300, 
307,  391,  397,  398,  401,  431,  446,  449,  452, 
468. 
He  left  over  100  operas,  including: 

Barbiere  di  Siviglia,  il  (St  Petersburg  1782; 
Paris  1789);  171,  172,  173,  193,  205,  300. 

Molinara,  (la),  ossia  I* Amor  Contrastato 
(libr.  G.  Palomba;  Naples  1788);  4. 

Nina,  ossia  La  Pazza  per  Amore  (Caserta 
1789);  449. 

Pirro  (Naples  1787);  391. 

R&  Teodoro  in  Venezia,  il  (Vienna  1784);  3, 

Scuffiara  (/a),  ossia  la  Modista  raggiratrice 
(Naples  1787);  3,  391,  398,  449. 

Paganini,  Niccolo  (b.  Genoa  1782;  d.  Nice 
1840).  Italian  violinist,  debut  (with  L. 
Marchesi)  in  Genoa  1793.  A  pupil  of  Costa, 
Rplla  and  Ghiretti,  he  spent  his  youth 
wildly,  but  soon  settled  down  to  make  a  for 
tune  out  of  his  playing;  345,  452. 

Pages  du  Due  de  Vendome,  les  (ballet).  See 
Aumer,  Gyrowetz. 

Paine  Knight.  See  Knight,  R.  P. 

Pallerini,  Antonia  (di  Pesaro).  Singer  and 
dancer  at  la  Scala.  See  Ricordi,  Commentartt 
della  vita  ...  di  S.  Vigand,  p.  343-7 ; 284,  375, 
438. 

Pandore,  la  (periodical).  See  M/rafr,  le;  124, 
143,  249. 

Parlamagni,  Anetta.  Member  of  the  original 
cast  of  Matilde  di  Shabran;  414. 

Parlamagni,  Antonio.  Member  of  the  original 
cast  of  La  Pietra  del  Paragone  and  Matilde 
di  Shabran',  85,  410,  414. 

Parmegianino  (Girolamo  -  Francesco  -  Maria 
Mazzolo,  known  as  il  P.)  (b.  Parma  1503; 
d.  Casalmaggiore  1540).  Italian  painter  and 
engraver,  strongly  influenced  by  Correggio; 
192. 

PARTENOPE.  Cantata  by  Rossini.  Text  by 
Giuseppe  Genoino.  Performed  Naples,  9th 
May  1819;  414. 

Pascal,  Blaise  (b.  Clermont  1623;  d.  Paris  1662). 
French  mathematician,  philosopher,  theo 
logian  and  writer,  famous  for  his  Lettres 
Provinciales  (1656-7)  and  for  the  collection  of 
philosophical  reflexions  known  as  Les 
Pensees;  58. 

Passavant,  Theophil.  German  traveller  and 
moralist,  author  of  a  book  on  Russia,  trans 
lated  by  Mrs  Clarke;  236. 

Pasta,  Giuditta,  nee  Negri  (b.  Saronno  1798; 
d.  Blavio  1865).  Italian  soprano  of  Jewish 
origin.  A  pupil  of  Asiolo  in  Milan,  she  made 
her  debut  in  Brescia  in  1815,  but  had  no 
major  success  until  she  took  Paris  by  storm 
in  1822.  Her  voice  extended  from  low  A  to 
D'"  (see  Grove  1954,  vol.  6,  p.  588,  col.  1, 
line  6;.  She  retired  c.  1834.  See  N.  Ferranti 
Giulini,  Giuditta  Pasta  e  i  suoi  tempi,  Milan 
1935;  7,  13,  25,  50,  54,  55,  62,  101,  179,  205, 
213,  218,  219,  221,  222,  224,  225,  226,  227, 
234,  241,  251,  252,  268,  300,  315,  319,  324, 
335, 350, 357,  361-376, 385, 386, 390,413, 417, 
419,433. 
Paul.  See  Richter,  Jean-Paul. 


514 


LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 


Paul,  Monsieur.  Ballet-dancer,  leading  dancer 
at  the  King's  Theatre,  1822;  205. 

Pavesi,  Stefano  (b.  Vaprio  1779;  d.  Crema 
1850).     Italian  composer  who  studied  in 
Naples.  Debut  in  Venice,   1803,  with   Un 
Avvertimento  ai  Gelosi;  26,  27,  33,  120,  391, 
397,415,432. 
His  works  include: 
Armtnto  (Venice,  1821);  432. 
Corradino  (Venice  1810);  415. 
Ser  Marcantonio  (libr.  by  Angelo  Anelli; 
la  Scala  1810.  This  is  Pavesi's  greatest 
work,  and  the  source  of  Donizetti's  Don 
Pasquale)i  391. 

Pellegrini  (Pelegrini),  Felice  (b.  Turin  1774; 
d.  Paris  1832).  Italian  bass,  a  pupil  of 
Ottani.  Debut,  Leghorn  1795.  Paer  originally 
wrote  Agnese  for  his  voice.  In  1826,  he  was 
succeeded  by  Zuchelli  at  the  Opera-Italien, 
and  became  a  professor  at  the  Paris  Con 
servatoire;  24,  178,  179,  185,  240,  245,  271, 
411,412,417,424. 

Pellico,  Silvio  (b.  Saluzzo  1789;  d.  Turin  1854). 
Italian  patriot,  poet  and  dramatist.  One  of 
the  leading  spirits  of  Italian  romanticism, 
imprisoned  for  political  reasons  in  the 
Fortress  of  Spielberg  1822-1830.  His  early 
tragedies  include  Laudamia  (1815)  and 
Eufemio  dl  Messina  (1820);  60,  425. 

Perego,  Giovanni  (b.  Milan  1776;  d.  Milan 
1817).  Italian  painter  and  stage-designer,  a 
pupil  of  Landriani.  Worked  mainly  at  la 
Scala.  See  C.  Ricci,  La  Scenografia  italtana, 
Milan  1930;  54,  288,  439,  440. 

Pergolese  (Pergolesi),  Giovanni-Battista  (b.  Jesi 
1710;  d.  Pozzuoli  1736).    Italian  composer. 
In  spite  of  his  brief  existence,  Pergolese  is  one 
of  the   major  composers   of  his   period; 
27,  41,  57,  58,  59,  101,  116,  118,  120,  193, 
292,  322,  335,  431,  446. 
His  operas  include: 
OUmptade,  I'  (opera  seria  in  3  acts  libr.  by; 

Metastasio.  Rome  1735);  116. 
Serva  Padrona,  la  (intermezzo;  libr.  by 
G.  A.  Federico.  Naples  1733);  116. 

Periet,  Adrien  (b.  Marseilles  1795;  d.  Enghien- 
les-Bains  1850).  French  vaudeville-actor  and 
dramatist.  His  most  successful  play  was  a 
1-act  farce  entitled  V Artiste  (1821),  written 
in  conjunction  with  Scribe.  One  of  his  great 
est  rdles  was  mLe  Comedien  d*Etampes  (g.v.); 

Perticari,  Costanza  (b.  Rome  1792;  d.  Ferrara 
1840).  Daughter  of  the  poet  Monti,  Cos 
tanza  married  the  writer  Giulio  Perticari  in 
1812.  Herself  a  writer  of  note,  shelived  a  wild 
life,  and  in  1822  was  accused  of  murdering 
her  husband;  46,  106. 

Peruchini,  Signor.  A  friend  of  Stendhal  in 
Venice;  64. 

Perugino  (Pietro  di  Cristoforo  Vannucci, 
known  as  il  P.)  (b.  Citta  della  Pieve  1445; 
d.  Fontignano  1523).  Italian  painter  of  the 
Umbrian  school;  46, 129. 

Peter  the  Hermit  (opera).  See  Mose  in  Egitto; 
308. 

Petracchi,  Signor.  Italian  impresario,  origin 
ally  at  la  Scala,  later  in  London.  See  Ebers, 
Seven  Years  of  the  King's  Theatre:  33,  419, 
427. 

Petrarch,  Francesco  (b.  Arezzo  1304;  d.  Padua 
1374).  The  first  modern  Italian  poet;  184. 

Philibert  (comedy).  See  Picard. 

Philip  II,  King  of  France  1180-1223.  An 
energetic  monarch,  whose  reign  was  stained 
by  a  violent  persecution  of  the  Jews,  followed 


by  the  extermination  of  the  Albigensians; 
207. 

Philoctete  (tragedy).  See  La  Harpe. 

Philosophe  Marie,  le  (comedy).  See  Destouches. 

Phillpotts  (Philpott),  Henry,  Bishop  of  Exeter 
(1778-1869).  In  his  youth,  Phillpotts  wrote 
a  number  of  violent  pamphlets  upon  political 
matters,  including  a  justification  of  the 
Peterloo  massacre,  during  which  he  entered 
into  collision  with  the  more  liberal-minded 
Edinburgh  Review  (1819-20);  8. 

PIANTO  D'ARMONIA  (IL)  SULLA  MORTE  DI  ORJFEO. 
Cantata  by  Rossini.  Libretto  by  Girolamo 
Ruggia.  Performed  Bologna,  llth  August 
1808;  46,  409,  414. 

Picard,  Louis-Benolt  (b.  Paris  1769;  d.  Paris 
1828).  French  actor,  dramatist  and  novelist, 
whose  first  comedy,  le  Badinage  Dangereux 
(1789)  was  written  in  collaboration  with 
Fievee.  For  some  time  he  was  director  of  the 
Louvois.  His  innumerable  plays  include  Les 
Deux  Philibert  (1816);  he  also  left  25  volumes 
of  novels,  4  of  which  make  up  the  Memoires 
de  Jacques  Fauvel  (Paris  1823);  238. 

Piccinni  (Piccini),  Niccold  (b.  Bari  1728;  d. 
Paris  1800).  Italian  composer,  a  pupil  of  Leo 
and  Durante;  debut  with  le  Donne  dispettose 
(1754).  In  1776,  worsted  in  rivalry  with 
Anfossi,  he  went  to  Paris,  where  he  was 
elevated  (against  his  will)  to  the  rank  of 
champion  of  the  anti-gluckistes*  Singing- 
master  to  Marie- Antoinette;  22,  28.  98,  119, 
120,  201,  292,  308. 

PIETRA  DEL  PARAGONE,  LA.  Opera  by  Rossini; 
2  acts,  libretto  by  Luigi  Romanelli.  Per 
formed  in  Milan,  26th  September  1812. 
Often  referred  to  as  la  Sigillara;  24,  36,  39, 
84-94, 184,  252,  328,  361,  387,  395,  407,  410. 

Pietro  da  Cortona  (1596-1669).  Tuscan  painter 
and  architect,  a  brilliant  and  prolific  artist; 
36. 

Pignotti,  Lorenzo  (b.  Figline  nel  Valdamo 
1739 ;  d.  Pisa  1812).  Italian  poet,  fabulist  and 
historian.  His  historical  works,  including  the 
Storia  della  Toscana  sino  al  prtncipato,  con 
diversi  saggi  sulle  scienze,  lettere  e  arti  ... 
(9  vols.,  Pisa,  1813-14)  are  more  concerned 
with  style  than  scientific  accuracy;  232. 

Pmotti,Elisabetta.  Italian  soprano,  member  of 
the  original  cast  of  Adelalda  di  Borgogna; 

Pinto  (drama).  See  Lemercier. 

Pirate,  The  (novel).  See  Scott. 

Piron,  Alexis  (b.  Dijon  1689;  d,  Paris  1773). 
French  poet  and  dramatist.  A  scurrilous  wit, 
Piron  was  most  successful  outside  the  rigid 
conventions  of  the  Comedie  Franpaise.  Only 
one  of  his  comedies,  la  Metromanie,  survives 
in  the  present  repertoire;  135. 

Pirro  (opera).  See  Paesiello. 

Pisaroni,  Benedetta  Rosamunda  (b.  Piacenza 
1793;  d.  Piacenza  1872).  Italian  soprano, 
later  contralto.  A  pupil  of  Pino,  Moschini 
and  Marchesi,  she  made  her  debut  at  Ber 
gamo  in  1811.  In  spite  of  a  disfiguring  attack 
of  small-pox,  she  was  recognized  after  1813 
as  the  finest  contralto  in  Italy.  Retired  1831 ; 
113,  168,  218,  354,  358,  366,  380,  383,  384, 
413,  426. 

Pistocchi,  Francesco  Antonio  Mamiliano 
(b.  Palermo  1659;  d.  Bologna  1726).  Italian 
male  contralto  and  composer.  Debut  in 
1675.  From  1679  to  1700,  Pistocchi  was  con 
sidered  the  finest  singer  in  Europe;  in  1701, 
he  founded  his  school  in  Bologna,  which 


INDEX  AND  TABLE  OF  REFERENCES 


515 


spread  the  popularity  of  the  bel  canto  style 
of  singing;  341. 

Pitie,  de  la  (poem).  See  Delille. 

Pitt,  William  ("the  Younger")  (b.  Hayes  1759; 
d.  Putney  1806).  English  statesman  who, 
during  the  whole  revolutionary  period, 
became  for  France  the  living  incarnation  of 
English  hostility,  treachery  and  chauvinism; 

Pius  VI,  Pope  (Giovanni-Angelo  Braschi;  b. 
Cesena  1717;  Pope  1775;  d.  Valence  1799). 
An  unhappy  pontiff,  who  was  finally 
arrested  by  General  Berthier  (1797),  and 
dragged  about  France  until  his  death;  187. 

Pius  VIT,  Pope  (Barnaba-Luigi-Gregorio 
Chiaramonti;  b.  Cesena  1740;  Pope  1800; 
d.  Rome  1823).  Pius  VII  and  his  minister, 
Cardinal  Consalvi,  were  responsible  for 
negotiating  the  Concordat  with  Napoleon. 
After  1815,  Pius  VII  was  noteworthy  for  his 
lack  of  vengefumess;  187,  431. 

Pix,  Mrs  Mary  (1666-1720).  English  dramatist, 
and  one  of  the  most  active  females  of  her  age 
after  Mrs  Aphra  Behn.  Her  comedies  include 
The  Deceiver  Deceiv'd  (Lincoln's  Inn  Fields, 
Dec.  1697);  236. 

Plato  (429-347  B.C.).  Greek  philosopher;  125 
126,  376. 

Plaute  (drama).  See  Lemercier. 

Plutarch  (A.D.  45-125).  Greek  historian,  philo 
sopher  and  moralist;  461. 

Poerio,  Giuseppe  (b.  Belcastro  1775;  d.  Naples 
1843).  Italian  patriot  and  orator.  One  of  the 
most  enthusiastic  of  Neapolitan  Jacobins; 
later  a  firm  adherent  of  Napoleon,  and  one  of 
the  formulators  of  the  short-lived  constitu 
tion  of  the  Republic  of  Naples;  444. 

Poesie  (la)  et  la  Peinture  (treatise).  See  Du  Bos. 

Polyeucte  (tragedy).  See  Corneille. 

Pompadour,  Jeanne-Antoinette  Poisson,  Mar 
quise  de  (b.  Paris  1721;  d.  Versailles  1764). 
Daughter  of  a  wealthy  tax-farmer  and  a 
prostitute,  she  became  mistress  and  favourite 
of  Louis  XV  from  1745  until  her  death;  1 99. 

Ponceau,  Pierre-Etienne  du.  French  scholar 
and  polyglot,  ft.  1800-40.  See  Heckewaelder; 
175. 

Pontiggia,  Teqdplinda.  Venetian  singer,  mem 
ber  of  the  original  cast  of  //  Figlio  per  azzardo ; 
411. 

Porpora,  Nicola-Antonio  (b.  Naples  1686; 
d.  Naples  1766).  Neapolitan  composer,  a 
pupil  of  Gaetano  Greco.  Debut  with  Agrip- 
pina  (1708).  From  1733-7,  he  was  Handel's 
chief  rival  in  London.  He  left  some  80  operas; 
and  has  been  called  "the  greatest  teacher  of 
singing  among  composers,  and  the  greatest 
composer  among  teachers  of  singing";  119. 
120. 

Porte-Saint-Martin,  TMdtre  de  la.  See  Theatres. 

Porto,  Matteo.  Italian  basso-buffo.  Dlbut  at 
Pavia,  1802.  First  bass  at  the  Louvois,  1810. 
By  1819,  however,  his  voice  had  gone,  and  he 
retired  in  1826;  413. 

Portogallo  (Marcos-Antonio  da  Fonseca 
Simao,  known  as  .11  P.)  (b.  Lisbon  1762; 
d.  Rio  de  Janeiro  1830).  Debuts'.  Lisbon 
1784;  Naples  1792.  Portogallo  left  35  Italian 
and  21  Portuguese  operas,  of  which  the  most 
successful  was  Ferdinando  in  Messico  (Rome 
1797);  26,  33,  308. 

Potier,  Charles  (1775-1838).  French  comic 
actor,  whose  glory  was  eventually  eclipsed  by 
that  of  his  still  more  famous  son,  Charles- 
Joseph-Edouard  (1806-70),  the  hero  of  the 
Porte-Saint-Martin  and  the  Gymnase;  248. 


Potter,  Louis-Joseph-Antoine  de.  Author  of 
I'Esprit  de  VEglise,  ou  Considerations  philo- 
sophiques  et  politiques  sur  VHistoire  des 
Conciles  et  des  Popes,  deputy  les  Apdtres 
jusqu'a  nos jours,  Paris  (E.  Babeuf)  1821.  See  J. 
Deschamps,  Stendhal  et  de  Potter  (Paris  1925) ; 
42,  188. 

Poussin,  Nicolas  (b.  Les  Andelys  1594;  d.  Rome 
1665).  French  painter  in  the  classical  tradi 
tion;  86,  192. 

Pradt,  Dommique-Georges-Fr6d6ric  de  Riom 
de  Prolhiac  de  Fourt,  abbe  de  (b.  Saint-Flour 
1759;  d.  Paris  1837).  Archbishop  of  Mfolines. 
French  ecclesiastical  diplomat  and  writer,  he 
contributed  greatly  to  the  restoration  of 
Louis  XVIII.  After  1815,  he  retired  to  write 
a  series  of  liberal  pamphlets;  87. 

Pretendenti  Delusi,  i  (opera).  See  Mosca. 

Preville  (Pierre-Louis  Dubus,  known  as)  (b. 
Paris  1721 ;  d.  Beauvais  1799).  French  actor, 
originally  a  stone-mason.  Debut  at  the 
Comedie-Francaise  in  1753.  He  excelled  in  all 
types  of  parts,  and  was  a  popular  favourite 
until  his  retirement  in  1786;  179. 

Prina,  Count  Giuseppe  (b.  Novara  1766; 
d.  Milan  1814).  Jesuit-trained  Milanese 
lawyer  and  statesman.  Minister  of  Finance 
from  1798,  under  various  regimes,  until  1814. 
His  many  financial  reforms  made  him  widely 
detested,  and  he  was  finally  murdered  in  a 
riot.  The  Vision  of^  Count  Prina  (.la  Prineide) 
was  a  vicious  political  satire  by  Tommaso 
Grossi  (1815);  91,  110. 

Principles  of  Taste,  The  (treatise).  See  Knight, 
R.  P. 

Profetti,  Signor.  Minor  singer  at  the  Thiatre 
Louvois;  418. 

Prometeo  (ballet).  See  Vigan6. 

Psammi,  R&  dell'  Egitto  (ballet).  See  Vigand. 

Puccitta  (Pucita)  Vincenzo  (b.  Civitavecchia 
1778;  d.  Milan  1861).  Italian  composer, 
debut  Smigaglia  1799.  Puccitta  made  his 
reputation  with  //  Puntiglio  (Milan  1802).  In 
1811,  he  became  accompanist  and  personal 
composer  to  Madame  Catalan!,  acquiring 
an  unenviable  reputation  as  a  "tame  music 
ian",  especially  between  1815  and  1817,  when 
she  became  directress  of  the  Italian  Opera  in 
Paris.  After  1817,  he  returned  to  Italy;  30, 
412. 

Quentin  Durward  (novel).  See  Scott. 

Quotidienne  (/a),  ou  la  Feuille  du  Jour.  Period 
ical,  originally  founded  in  1793,  which  took 
its  final  title  in  1815  (-1847).  Its  editors  in 
cluded  La  Harpe,  Fontanes,  Fievee,  Nodier, 
etc.',  197. 

Rabelais,  Francois  (b.  La  Devintere  1494;  d. 
Paris  1553).  French  doctor,  diplomat  and 
writer,  author  of  Gargantua,  Pantagruel,  etc.; 
247. 

Racine,  Jean-Baptiste  (b.  La  Ferte-Milon  1639; 
d.  Paris  1699).  French  tragic  dramatist; 
35,  98,257,  285,  299,  300,  310,  311,  405,  413, 
461. 

His  plays  include: 
Andromaque  (17th  November  1667);  83, 

257, 

Britannicus  (13th  December  1669);  257. 
Iphigenie  en  Aulide  (18th  August  1674); 

179,  285,  299. 

Racine  et  Shakespeare.  See  Stendhal. 
Radcliffe,  Mrs  Anne,  nee  Ward  (b.  London 
1764;  d.  London  1823).    English  novelist, 


516 


LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 


whose  mastery  of  the  "Gothic"  atmosphere 
earned  her  immense  popularity  in  her  time. 
Her  best-known  work  is  the  Mysteries  of 
Udolpho  (1794);  25. 

Raffanelli,  Luigi  (b.  Lecce  1752).  Italian  basso- 
buffo,  of  outstanding  ability  as  an  actor. 
When  associated  with  Rossini,  he  was  already 
comparatively  old;  410,  411. 

Raison,  Folie.  Cf.  W.  F.  Reddaway,  A  History 
of  Europe  1715-1814,  (Methuen  1936),  p.  51; 

Ranibouillet,  Hotel  de.  Built  by  the  Marquise 
de  Rambouillet  (rue  St.-Thomas-du-Louvre) 
in  1615,  and  the  site  of  the  most  famous  salon 
of  the  XVIIth  century;  107. 

Raphael  of  Urbino  (Raffaello  Sanzio,  b.  Urbino 
1483;  d.  Rome  1520).  Italian  painter;  36,  41, 
43,  46,  53,  57,  76,  129,  145,  183,  213,  283, 
309,  320,  431,  446. 

Rapports  du  Physique  et  du  Moral  de  VHomme 
(des)  (treatise).  See  Cabanis. 

Raucourt,  Mile  (Francoise-Marie-Antoinette- 
Jos6phine  Saucerotte,  known  as)  (b.  Paris 
1756;  d.  Paris  1815).  French  tragic  actress. 
Dlbut  1772,  The&tre  des  Tuikries.  In  1808, 
she  organized  a  tour  of  Italy  with  a  French 
troupe.  An  extremely  competent  actress,  but 
dissolute  and  disagreeable;  405. 

Re  Teodoro  in  Venezia,  il  (opera).  See  Paesiello. 

Regnard,  Jean-Francois  (b.  Paris  1655;  d. 
Dourdan  1709).  French  comic  dramatist, 
one  of  the  successors  of  Moliere.  He  left  a 
score  of  minor  masterpieces,  of  which  the 
finest  is  Le  Legataire  Universel  (1758);  111, 
434. 

Reicha,  Antonln  (b.  Prague  1770;  d.  Paris 
1836).  French  composer,  teacher  and  music 
ologist.  His  treatises  include  a  Trait  £  de 
Melodic  (1814);  and  a  Cours  de  Composition 
musicale  (1818);  304. 

Religieuse  Portugaise,  la  :  Marianna  Alca- 
forada,  Lettres  d*  Amour  d'une  Religieuse 
Portugaise,,  Rentes  au  chevalier  de  C  ...  , 
officier  francais  en  Portugal  ...  First  trans 
lated  into  French  in  1669;  206. 

Remorini,  Rainiero  (b.  Bologna  1783;  d.  Bol 
ogna  1827).  Distinguished  Italian  bass. 
Debut,  Parma  1806.  Outstanding  in  operas  by 
Mayr  and  Fioravanti.  Rossini  wrote  Torvaldo 
for  him  in  1815;  164,  169,  412. 

Renegat  (le).  A  popular  novel  by  Charles 
d'Arlincourt,  2  vols.,  Paris  1822;  204. 

Renomm&e,  la.  Periodical,  founded  in  June 
1819,  upon  the  dissolution  of  la  Minerve,  by 
Etienne,  Jay,  Du  Moulin  and  Tissot.  In 
June,  1820  it  merged  with  le  Courier 
Francais;  143,  174,  300. 

Requiem.  See  Mozart. 

Ricci,  Scipione  (b.  Florence  1741;  d.  Florence 
1810).  Bishop  of  Pistoia.  Ricci  ardently 
supported  the  plans  of  Leopold  II  of  Tuscany 
for  subordinating  the  ecclesiastical  to  the 
civil  authorities;  the  Synod  of  Pistoia  (1786) 
led  to  rioting  and  to  the  eventual  flight  and 
disgrace  of  the  bishop.  See  de  Potter,  Vie  de 
Scipion  Ricci;  240. 

Ricci,  Tommaso.  Italian  singer,  member  of 
original  cast  of  la  Cambiale  di  Matrimonio; 
410. 

Ricdardetto.  Poem  by  Niccold  Forteguerri 
(pseud.  Niccold  Carteromaco),  2  vols.,  Paris 
1738.  This  work  ran  to  many  editions  in  the 
XVIIIth  century,  and  is  the  basis  of  Rossini's 
Ricciardo;  383. 


RICCIARDO  E  ZORAIDE.  Opera  by  Rossini. 
Libretto  by  Berio  di  Salsa.  Performed  at 
the  San-Carlo,  Naples,  3rd  December 
1818;  168,  382,  383,  384,  389,  390,  413. 

Ricciardo  Cuordileone  (ballet).   See  Vigand. 

Richard  Coeur-de-Lion  (1784).  One  of  the  most 
celebrated  French  operas  of  the  XVIIIth 
century,  libretto  by  Sedaine,  music  by 
Gr6try.  BlondePs  aria,  O  Richard,  dmonRoi 
comes  in  Act  I.  See  also  Vigand',  335. 

Richardson,  Samuel  (b.  Derbyshire  1689; 
d.  London  1761).  English  writer  who  created 
the  middle-class  sentimental  novel  with 
Pamela,  or  Virtue  Rewarded  (1740)  and 
Clarissa  Harlowe  (1747-8);  459. 

Richelieu,  Louis-Francois-Armand  de  Vig- 
nerot  du  Plessis,  due  de  (b.  Paris  1696; 
d.  Paris  1788).  Great-nephew  of  the  Car 
dinal,  Richelieu  was  a  notable  soldier  and 
Marshal  of  France;  but  he  had  an  unenvi 
able  reputation  for  licentiousness  and 
brutality;  199. 

Richter,  Jean-Paul  (b.  Wunsiedel  1763;  d.  Bay- 
reuth  1825).  German  writer  and  humorist  of 
the  romantic  period.  Contrary  to  Stendhal's 
affirmations,  the  libretto  of  der  Freischutz  is 
not  based  on  his  version  of  the  story;  452. 

RICONOSCENZA,  LA.  Cantata  by  Rossini.  Text 
by  Guilio  Genoino.  Performed  at  Naples, 
27th  December  1821;  414. 

Ricordi,  Giovanni  (b.  Milan  1785;  d.  Milan 
1853).  Founder  of  the  well-known  firm  of 
Milanese  music-publishers,  whose  first  "best 
seller"  was  Mosca's  I pretendenti  Delusi,  and 
who  have  since  published  for  ail  the  great 
maestri,  from  Rossini  and  Verdi  to  Puccini; 
287,  316,  435. 

Righetti,  Signora.  See  Giorgi-Righetti. 

Rigueurs  du  Cloitre,  les  ("opera  r6volution- 
naire' ') .  See  Berton. 

Rinaldo  (epic  poem).  See  Tasso;  Armida. 

Rivarol  (Antoine  Rivaroli,  known  as  le  comte 
de  R.)  (b.  Bagnols  1753;  d.  Berlin  1801). 
French  journalist,  scholar  and  satirist,  of 
Italian  origins.  On  account  of  his  extreme 
royalist  sympathies,  Rivarol  emigrated  from 
France  in  1792;  Burke  referred  to  him  as  the 
"Tacitus  of  the  French  Revolution";  96. 

Rocca-Sinibalda,  Prince  of.  An  administrator 
of  la  Scala;  424. 

Rochette,  Desire-Raoul  (sometimes  known  as 
Raqul-Rochette)  (b.  St  Amand  1789;  d. 
Paris  1854).  French  archaeologist  and 
scholar,  who,  in  1820,  accepted  a  senior  post 
in  the  censorship,  for  which  he  was  heartily 
despised  by  the  majority  of  his  contempor 
aries.  His  historical  works,  Histoire  critique 
de  retablissement  des  Colonies  grecques  (1815) 
and  Histoire  de  la  Revolution  helve tique 
belong  to  the  earlier  part  of  his  career;  445. 

Rode,  Pierre-Jacques-Joseph  (b.  Bordeaux 
1774;  d.  Damazon  1830).  French  violinist 
and  composer,  a  pupil  of  Viotti.  D6but  as 
performer  in  1790.  Rode  was  more  than  a 
mere  virtuoso,  he  was  a  major  influence  on 
XDCth  century  technique  and  tradition;  326. 

Rogniat,  Joseph,  vicomte  (b.  Vienne  1767; 
d.  1840).  French  military  engineer  in 
Napoleon's  army,  made  inspector-general  of 
all  engineering  branches  in  1816;  296. 

Rolla,  Alessandro  (b.  Pavia  1757;  d.  Milan 
1841).  Italian  violinist,  composer  and  con 
ductor.  His  pupils  included  Paganini.  In 
1802,  he  became  leader  and  conductor  of  the 
orchestra  of  la  Scala,  and  in  1805,  professor 
at  the  Milan  conservatoire;  329. 


INDEX  AND  TABLE  OF  REFERENCES 


517 


Romagnesi,  Antoine-Joseph-Michel  (b.  Paris 
1781;  d.  Paris  1850).  French  composer  of 
Italian  origins;  secretary  to  Pierre  Daru 
(#.v.).  Abhorred  by  Stendhal  as  the  perpetra 
tor  of  a  peculiarly  nauseating  type  of 
Romance  for  drawing-room  performance  ;29. 

Romberg,  Bernhard  (b.  Dinklage  1767;  d. 
Hamburg  1841).  The  most  celebrated  mem 
ber  of  a  large  German  family  of  musicians, 
and  generally  regarded  as  the  founder  of  the 
German  school  of  'cellists.  He  toured  Europe 
widely,  and  in  1801-1803  was  professor  at  the 
Paris  Conservatoire;  357. 

Rome,  Naples  et  Florence.  See  Stendhal. 

Romeo  e  Giulietta  (opera).  See  Zingarelli, 
Giulietta  e  Romeo, 

Ronconi,  Domenico  (b.  Lendinara  1772; 
d.  Milan  1839).  Italian  singer,  debut  in 
Venice,  1797.  Sang  largely  in  Vienna  and 
St  Petersburg  until  1819,  when  he  went  to 
Munich  for  ten  years.  Founded  a  school  of 
singing  in  Milan,  1829;  434. 

Rosa  bianca  (Id)  e  la  Rosa  rossa  (opera).  See 
Mayr. 

Roscius,  Quintus  0/7.  first  cent.  A.D.).  A  freed 
slave,  who  became  the  greatest  actor  in  the 
Roman  Empire;  319. 

Rosich  (Rossichi),  Paolo.  Italian  singer,  mem 
ber  of  the  original  casts  of  I'Equivoco 
stravagante  and  of  FItaUtma;  410,  41 L 

Rossi,  Catterina.  Singer,  member  of  the 
original  casts  of  Sigismondo  and  la  Cener- 
entola;  later  engaged  at  the Louvois:  237, 412. 
417. 

Rossi,  Giovanni  Gherardo  de'  (b.  Rome  1754; 
d.  Rome  1827).  Roman  scholar,  poet  and 
comic  dramatist  in  the  tradition  of  Goldoni. 
His  best  play  was  //  Cortigiano  Onesto  (1820). 
Trained  as  a  banker,  he  was  Minister  of 
Finance  from  1798-1800;  239. 

Rossini,  Anna.  See  Guidarini. 

Rossini,  Giuseppe  (1759-1839).  Father  of  the 
composer.  Nicknamed  Vivazza;  41,  45. 

Rousseau,  Jean- Jacques  (b.  Geneva  1712;  d. 
Ermenonville  1778).  French  philosopher,nov- 
elist  and  musicologist.  Rousseau  wrote  one 
successful  operetta  ("intermede"),  Le  Devin 
du  Village  (1752),  translated  by  Burney  as 
The  Cunning-Man  (1766).  In  1753,  Fayart  and 
de  Guerville  produced  a  parody  of  this  work, 
les  Amours  de  Bastien  et  Bastienne,  which  was 
later  adapted  by  Mozart's  librettist,  Weiskern 
(1768);  12,  59,  76,  292,  294,  295,  297,  347, 

Rousseau's  other  works  include: 

Confessions,  les  (posth.,  1782);  12,  76. 

Dictionnaire  de  Musique  (1767). 

Lettre  sur  la  Musique  Francaise  (1753). 

Levite  d'Ephraim,  le;  315. 

Nouvelle  Heloise,  la  (1761);  206. 
Rubens,  Peter-Paul  (b.  Siegen  1577;  d.  Antwerp 
1640).  Flemish  painter  and  diplomat;  235. 
Rubini,  Giambattista  (b.  Romano   1795;  d. 
Romano  1854).    Italian  tenor.  A  pupil  of 
Nozzari,  Rubini  was  engaged  by  Barbaja, 
but  enjoyed  no  success  until  he  appeared  in 
Paris  in  la  Cenerentola  (1825).  Associated 
with  Rossini,  Donizetti  and  Bellini.  From 
1830  to  1844,  Rubini  was  recognized  as  one 
of  the  greatest  tenors  of  his  century.  Married 
la  Comelli  (<?.v.)  in  1819;  414,  415. 
Russie,  de  la.  See  Passavant. 

Sacchini,  Antonio-Maria-Gasparo-Gioacchino 
(b.  Florence  1734;  d.  Paris  1786).  Italian 
composer,  son  of  a  fisherman.  Debut  with 


Fra  Donate  (1756).  Left  a  large  number  of 
operas,  of  which  the  most  popular  was  the 
posthumous  Oedipe  a  Colone  (1787);  22,28, 
57,  101,  119,  120,  292,  308,  342. 

Sala,  Adelalda.  Soprano,  member  of  the  ori 
ginal  cast  ofTorvaldo;  412. 

Salieri,  Antonio  (b.  Legnano  1750;  d.  Vienna 
1825).  Italian  composer  and  teacher,  a  pupil 
of  Tartini.  Opera  debut  with  Le  Donne 
letterate  (1770).  His  most  successful  work 
was  La  Grotta  di  Trofonio  (1785),  but  none  of 
his  operas  have  survived;  26. 

Samandria  Liberata  (ballet).   See  Vigand. 

Samson,  Joseph-Isidore  (b.  St-Denis  1793; 
d.  Auteuil  1871).  French  actor,  dramatist 
and  teacher  of  drama.  In  1823,  he  was  play 
ing  at  the  Odeon,  and  his  reputation  was  still 
to  make,  since  his  resplendent  debut  at  the 
Comedie  Francaise  did  not  take  place  till 
1826;  217,  248. 

San-Benedetto,  il  Teatro,  See  Theatres. 

San-Carlo,  il  Teatro  (Naples).    See  Theatres. 

Sangrado,  Dr.  A  character  from  Lesage's 
Gil  Bias  (q.v.);  442. 

San-Mose  (San-Moise),  il  Teatro.  See  Theatres. 

Sanquirico,  Alessandro  (b.  Milan  1777;  d. 
Milan  1849).  Italian  painter  and  stage- 
designer,  a  pupil  of  Perego.  Worked  mainly 
for  la  Scala;  54,  288,  387  ,419,422, 439,  440. 

Santantonio,  Count.  Sicilian  nobleman, 
administrator  of  la  Scala  and  of  the  King's 
Theatre,  London;  424,  427. 

Sao-Carlos  (Lisbon).    See  Theatres. 

Sardinia,  Carlo-Felice,  King  of.  Brother  to 
Charles-Emmanuel  IV  and  Victor-Emman 
uel  I,  Viceroy  of  Sardinia  in  1814,  King  of 
Savoy  and  Sardinia,  1821;  434. 

Sargino  (opera).  See  Paer. 

Sarti,  Giuseppe  (b.  Faenza  1729;  d.  Berlin 
1802).  Italian  composer,  a  pupil  of  Martini. 
Debut  1752  vfithPompeo  in  Armenia.  Worked 
largely  in  Copenhagen,  Venice  and  St  Peters 
burg.  His  pupils  included  Cherubini;  his 
most  successful  work  was  le  Gelosie  villane 
(Venice  1776);  26,  119,  120. 

Sassarini  (or  Sassani),  Matteo  (known  as 
Matteucci;  b.  Naples  1649;  d.  c.  1730). 
"Famosissimo  cantor  di  voce  soprano";  256. 

Saul  (tragedy).  See  Soumet. 

Scala,  la.  See  Theatres. 

SCALA  pi  SETA,  LA.  Opera  (1  act  farsa)  by 
Rossini.  Libretto  by  Giuseppe  Foppa,  com 
missioned  by  impresario  Cera.  Performed 
San-Mose  theatre,  Venice,  9th  May  1812; 
47,  328,  410. 

Scapino.  A  leading  character  of  the  traditional 
Italian  Commedia  dell'  Arte;  the  sly  servant, 
intelligent,  cunning  and  subtle  in  intrigue;  93. 

Scappa,  Signor,  of  Milan,  A  teacher  of  singing, 
whose  pupils  included  Giuditta  Pasta 
(1816-19);  367. 

Scarlatti ,  Pietro  Alessandro  Gaspare  (b.  Pal 
ermo  1660;  d.  Naples  1725).  Italian  com 
poser  and  founder  of  the  Neapolitan  school. 
Operatic  debut  with  I'Errore  innocente  (Rome 
1679).  Alessandro  (who  was  the  father  of  the 
keyboard  composer  Domenico),  left  some  70 
operas  and  200  masses.  He  has  been  called 
"the  true  founder  of  the  classical  idiom  in 
music";  18,  120,  121. 

Schauroth,  (Shaurott),  Fraiilein  Delphina.  An 
infant  prodigy  at  the  piano;  358,  452. 

Schiassetti,  Adelalda  (b.  c.  1800).  Italian  con 
tralto  and  a  close  friend  of  Stendhal.  She 
sang  in  Munich  (1818-1824),  and  at  the 
Louvois  from  1824  to  1826,  but  without  great 


518 


LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 


success.  Retired  c.  1833,  after  a  long  engage 
ment  in  Dresden;  252,  426,  434. 
Schiassetti,  Fortunate  (d.  Milan  1813).  Italian 
general  and  liberal  politician;  a  friend  of 
Stendhal.  Stendhal  refers  to  him  as  "le  plus 
brave  houzard  del'armee  d'ltalie";  91. 
Schiller,  Johann-Christoph-Friedrich  (b.  Mar- 
bach  1759;  d.  Weimar  1805).   German  poet 
and  dramatist;  69,  258,  285,  300. 
His  works  include: 

Don  Carlos  (tragedy).  1787;  258. 
Geisterseher  (der):  aus  den  Memoires  des 

Grafen  von  O***  (novel).  1789;  69. 
Willhelm  Tell  (tragedy)  1805.  (The  basis  of 

Rossini's  opera);  258,  285. 
Schiva,  la.  Italian  singer;  426. 
Schmidt  (Smith),  Giovanni.  Librettist  of  the 
San-Carlo,   Naples.   Author  of  Elisabetta, 
Armida,  Adelalda  and  Eduardo;  153. 
Sciarpelletti,  Gioacchino.  Italian  bass,  member 

of  the  original  cast  of  AdelaTda;  413. 
Scipio,  Publius  Cornelius  ("Africanus")  (235- 
183  B.C.).  Roman  general,  the  conqueror  of 
Carthage;  163. 

Scoppa,  abb6  Antonio  (fl.  1780-1820).  Poet 
and  critic  of  Italian  origin,  living  largely  in 
Paris.  His  major  work  is  the  Traite  de  la 
Poesie  italienne  rapport&e  a  la  Poesie  fr an  false 
(Paris  1803);  175. 

Scott,  Sir  Walter  (b.  Edinburgh  1771;  d.  1832). 
Scottish  novelist,  whose  works  exercised  an 
immense  influence  on  the  development  of 
the  romantic  novel:  20,  52,  57-59,  152,  169, 
170,    185,    194,  201,   206,   377,    382,   445, 
Writings  referred  to  include: 
Abbot,  The  (1820);  169. 
Ivanhoe  (1820);  52,  58. 
Kenilworth  (1821);  152,  157. 
Lady  of  the  Lake,  The  (poem,  1810)— the 
basis  of  Rossini's  La  Donna  del  Logo: 
377. 

Old  Mortality  (1816);  57,  185. 
Pirate,  The  (1822);  169. 
Quentin  Durward  (1823);  85,  195,  450. 
Tales  of  my  Landlord  (1816);  455. 
Scuffiara,  la  (opera).  See  Paesiello. 
Seasons,  The  (oratorio).  See  Haydn. 
Secret  Marriage,  The  (opera).    See  Cimarosa, 

//  Matrimonio  Segreto* 

Sedaine,  Michel-Jean  (b.  Paris  1719;  d.  Paris 
1797).  French  poet,  dramatist  and  librettist, 
who  began  his  career  as  a  stone-mason.  In 
the  straight  theatre,  his  masterpiece  is  the 
drome  bourgeois:  Le  Philosophe  sans  le 
Savoir  (1765).  His  libretti  include:  Alinet 
Reine  de  Golconde  (1766;  see  Berton);  Le 
Deserteur  (1769;  see  Monsigny)  and  Richard 
Casur  de  Lion  (1784;  see  Vigand);  285,  316. 
SEMIRAMIDE.  Opera  in  2  acts  by  Rossini. 
Libretto  by  Gaetano  Rossi,  based  on 
Voltaire.  Performed  in  Venice  (teatro  della 
Fenice)  on  3rd  February  1823);  120, 384,  414. 
Ser  Marcantonio  (opera).  See  Pavesi. 
ServaPadrona,  la  ("intermezzo").  SeePergolese. 
Sestini,Bartolomeo  (b.  San-Mato  1792;  d.  Paris 
1822).  Italian  poet,  novelist,  actor  and 
politician,  who  emigrated  to  France  to  avoid 
police  persecution.  His  works  include  a 
tragedy  (Guido  di  Montfort,  1821)  and  a 
romantic  novel  (La  Pia  de3  Tolomei,  1822); 
318. 

Shakespeare,  William  (1564-1616).      English 
dramatic  poet;  23,  24,  28,  111,  206,  207,  208, 
211,   212,   222,   254,  293,   386,   394,   461. 
The  plays  referred  to  include: 
Cymbelme  (1609-10);  394. 


King  Lear  (1605-6);  24. 
Macbeth  (1605-6);  23,  49. 
Merchant  of  Venice,  The  (1594);  394. 
Othello  (1604-5);  206,  207,  208,  209,  211, 

212,  215,  394. 

(For  a  list  of  Shakespearian  libretti,  see 
Grove's  Dictionary^ 

Sharp,  Dr  Samuel.  Author  of  Letters  from 
Italy,  describing  the  Customs  and  Manners  of 
that  Country  in  the  years  1765  and  1766,  to 
which  is  annexed  an  Admonition  to  Gentlemen 
who  pass  the  Alps  (London,  n.d.");  399. 

Sheridan,  Richard  Brinsley  (b.  Dublin  1751; 
d.  London  1816).  Anglo-Irish  dramatist  and 
political  orator.  Elected  to  Parliament  as  a 
whig  member  in  1780.  His  greatest  speeches 
were  made  at  the  trial  of  Warren  Hastings: 
444. 

Siboni,  Giuseppe  (b.  Bologna  1782;  d.  Copen 
hagen  1859).  Italian  tenor,  debut  Bologna 
1802.  Settled  in  Copenhagen  from  1812. 
Father  of  the  pianist  Erik  Anton  Valdemar 
Siboni  (1828-92);  165. 

Sidney,  Algernon  (b.  1622;  executed  London 
1682).  English  patriot,  member  of  the  Long 
Parliament  (1646).  An  ardent  parliament 
arian  despite  his  opposition  to  Cromwell,  he 
was  exiled  in  1660,  and  stayed  abroad  until 
1677.  In  1682,  he  was  implicated  in  the  Rye 
House  Plot,  tried  and  executed;  274. 

Siege  de  Calais,  le  (drama).  See  Du  Belloy. 

Sigillara.  See  Pietra  del  Paragons,  la. 

SIGISMONDO.  Opera  by  Rossini.  Libretto  by 
Giuseppe  Foppa.  Performed  in  Venice,  26th 
December  1814;  411,  412. 

Simond,  Louis  (1767-1831),  French  traveller 
and  writer,  author  of  the  Voyage  d'un 
Francois  en  Angleterre  pendant  les  Annies 
1810-1811  (Paris  1816);  Voyage  en  Italie  et  en 
Sidle  (1824);  276. 

Sinclair,  John  (b.  Edinburgh  1791 ;  d.  Margate 
1857).  Scottish  tenor,  son  of  a  cotton- 
spiruaer.  Originally  engaged  as  a  regimental 
clarinettist,  he  made  his  operatic  debut  in 
London  in  1810.  In  May  1821,  he  sang  to 
Rossini  in  Naples,  and  later  created  the  part 
of  Idreno  in  Semiramide ;  414. 

Sismondi,  Jean-Charles-L6onard  Simonde  de 
(b.  Geneva  1773;  d.  1842).  Swiss  economist 
and  historian.  His  two  greatest  works  are  the 
Histoire  des  R6publiques  Italiennes  du  Moyen 
Age  (8  vols.,  Zurich  1807-9),  and  the  Histoire 
desFrancais  (31  vols.,  Paris  1821-44);  232. 

Smith.  See  Schmidt. 

Socrates  (468-400  B.C.).  Greek  philosopher; 
126. 

Sografi,  Simone  Antonio  (b.  Padua  1759; 
d.  Padua  1818).  Italian  poet,  dramatist  and 
librettist.  As  a  writer  of  comedies,  he  was  an 
imitator  of  Goldoni:  Le  Convenienze  te- 
atrali  (1794)  and  Le  Inconvenienze  teatrali 
(1800)  have  survived.  His  libretti  include  that 
of  Donizetti's  Olivo  e  Pasquale;  111. 

Soliva,  Carlo  (b.  Casal-Monferrato  1792; 
d.  1843).  Italian  composer,  a  pupil  of  the 
Milan  conservatoire.  Debut  1816  at  la  Scala 
with  La  Testa  di  JBronzo.  Later  worked  in 
Paris,  Vienna  and  St  Petersburg;  65. 

Sottidteur  (le),  ou  I'Art  d'obtenir  des  Places. 
Comedy-vaudeville,  1  act  in  prose,  by  Scribe, 
Dupin,  Ynabert,  Varner  and  Delestre- 
Poirson,  Theatres  des  Variete's,  7th  April  1817; 
86. 

Soubise,  Charles  de  Rohan,  Prince  de  (b.  Paris 
1715;  d.  Paris  1787).  French  soldier,  whose 
defeats  (Rossbach,  1757;  Wilhemstadt, 


INDEX  AND  TABLE  OF  REFERENCES 


519 


1762)  were  more  notorious  than  his  victories. 
Happier  at  court  than  on  the  field  of  battle; 

Soumet,_  Alexandra  (b.  Castelnaudary  1788; 
d.  Pans  1845).  French  dramatist  and  poet, 
one  of  the  minor  figures  of  the  early  romantic 
theatre.  His  two  first  tragedies,  Saul  (1822), 
and  Clytemnestre  (1822),  had  sufficient 
success  to  earn  him  his  election  to  the 
Academic.  Librettist  of  Le  Siege  de  Corinthe; 

Spleen,  le  (short-story).  See  Besenval. 
Spontini,  Gasparo  Luigi  Pacifico  (b.  Maiolati 
1774;  d.  Maiolati  1851).  Italian  composer, 
trained  in  Naples.  Debut  with  Puntigli  delle 
Donne  (Rome  1796).  Soon  after  1800,  he 
moved  to  Paris,  where  he  became  director  of 
the  Theatre  Italien.  His  most  successful  opera 
was  La  Vestale  0ibr.  by  Jouy,  1807);  182, 194, 
295,  296. 

Stae"l-Holstein,  Anne-Louise-Gerraaine  Necker, 
baronne  de  (b.  Paris  1766;  d.  Paris  1817). 
The  daughter  of  the  financier  Necker, 
Madame  de  Stael  is  one  of  the  most  powerful 
figures  of  the  early  romantic  movement; 
together  with  Chateaubriand,  she  created  the 
style  romantique  so  abhorred  by  Stendhal; 
58,  136. 

Stendhal  (Henri  Beyle,  known  as)  (b.  Grenoble 
1783;  d.  1842).  Own  works  quoted: 
Histoire  de  la  Peinture  en  Italie  (2  vols., 

1817);  51. 

Racine  et  Shakespeare  (1823);  201. 
Rome,  Naples  et  Florence  (1817);  350. 
Vies  de  Haydn,  Mozart  et  Metastase  (1814); 

Stephens,'  Catherine,  Countess  of  Essex  (b. 
London  1794;  d.  London  1882).  English 
actress  and  singer.  Debut  Covent  Garden 
1813,  in  Artaxerxes.  From  1822-7  she  played 
at  Drury  Lane;  retired  in  1837.  Her  voice  was 
"full,  rich,  round  and  lovely";  281,  454. 

Stradella,  Alessandro  (b.  Montefestino  c.  1642; 
d,  Genoa  1682).  Italian  composer  of  opera 
and  church  music,  in  a  style  similar  to  that  of 
Corelli.  He  left  6  oratorios  and  5  operas, 
besides  many  other  works.  His  murderer 
was  probably  a  member  of  the  Contarini 
family;  229-233. 

Streffetde,  la  (satirical  poem).  See  Buratti. 

Strelitz,  les  (ballet).  See  Vigano. 

Sulla,  Lucius  Cornelius  (136-78  B.C.).  Roman 
soldier  and  dictator,  conqueror  of  Jugurtha 
and  rival  of  Marius;  199,  318. 

Synonymes  (treatise).  See  Girard. 

Tableau  des  Etats-Unis  (treatise).    See  Volney. 

Tableau  de  Rome.  See  Laorens. 

Tacci,  Sr.  Italian  singer,  member  of  the 
original  cast  of  La  Scala  di  Seta;  410. 

Tacitus,  P.  Cornelius  (A.D.  54-120).  Latin 
historian;  452. 

Tactique,  la  (treatise).  See  Guibert. 

Tales  of  my  Landlord  (stories).  See  Scott. 

Talma,  Francois-Joseph  (b.  Paris  1763;  d.  Paris 
1826).  French  tragic  actor,  son  of  a  dentist. 
Debut  at  the  Comedie  Franyaise  in  1787.  One 
of  the  great  reformers  of  the  French  stage, 
Talma  completed  the  break  with  the  classical 
tradition,  and  inaugurated  a  new  phase  of 
romantic  realism;  50, 160, 171, 257,  282, 308, 
351. 

Tamiri  (ballet).  See  Vigand. 

Tancrede  (tragedy).  See  Voltaire. 

TANCREDI.  "Melodramma  eroico"  in  2  acts  by 
Rossini.  Libretto  by  Gaetano  Rossi,  based  on 


Voltaire.    Performed   at    the   Teatro   detta 
Fenice,  Venice,  6th  February  1813;  9,  10,  11, 
24.  29,  39,  48,  49,  50  67,  88,  89,  96,  97,  102, 
117,  118,  120,  121,  123,  129,  136,  192,  202, 
219,  220,  268,  281,  295,  300,  316,  328,363, 
370,  371,  380,  381,  384,  387,  390,  396,  411. 
Tarchi,  Angelo  (b.  Naples  1760;  d.  Paris  1814). 
Italian  composer,  a  pupil  of  Fago  and  Sala. 
Tarchi  left  some  45  operas,  of  which  the 
most  popular  were  Ariarte  (la  Scala,  1786), 
and  D'Auberge  en  Auberge  (Paris,  1800);  26. 
Tasso,  Torquato  (b.  Sorrento  1544;  d.  Rome 
1595).  Italian  epic  poet,  a  favourite  source  of 
XVnith  century  libretti.  His  works  include 
Rinaldo  (1562;  see  Armida),  and  the  great 
Gerusalemme  Liberata  (1575);  9,  65. 
Tebaldo  ed  Isolina  (opera).  See  Morlacchi. 
Teniers,  David  (the  Younger)   (b.  Antwerp 
1610;  d.  Brussels  1694).     Flemish  painter, 
specializing  in  scenes  of  village  life;  241. 
Terence  (Publius  Terentius  Afer)  (b.  Carthage 
190  B.C.  ;  d.  159  B.C.).  Latin  comic  dramatist, 
one  of  the  founders  of  the  European  tradition 
of  classical  comedy;  104. 
Tesei,  Dom  Angelo.  Rossini's  first  teacher;  45. 
Testa  di  Bronzo,  la  (opera).  See  SoHva. 
ran  E  PELEO.  Cantata  by  Rossini.  Performed  in 
Naples,  24th  April  1816.  Text  by  Angelo  M. 
'  Ricci;  414. 
Theatres: 

Apollo,   Rome   (1785;    originally  Teatro 

Tordinone)-,  384,  414,  431. 
Argentina,  Rome  (1732);  169, 171, 172,412, 

413,431. 

Carcano,  Milan  (1803);  429. 
Communale,  Bologna;  423. 
Communal fe,  Ferrara;  410. 
Como,  theatre  of;  429. 
Corso,  Teatro  del,  Bologna  (1805);  410. 
Favart,  Paris  (1781);  428. 
Fenice,  Teatro  detta,  Venice;  411,  414,  419, 

431,433. 

Feydeau,  Paris  (1788;  originally  Theatre  de 
Monsieur)',  39,  102,  189,  202,  204,  316, 
351,  425,  426,  449. 
Filarmonici,  Verona;  415. 
Fiorentini,  Teatro  del,  Naples  (1618);  411, 

Fondo',  Teatro  del,  Milan;  147,  148,  167, 
412,  414. 

Gaiete,  Theatre  de  la,  Paris  (1753);  280. 

Gymnase-Dramatique,  Paris  (1820)  (also 
known  as  Theatre  de  Madame)',  86,  202, 
235451. 

King's  Theatre,  London  (1705;  rebuilt 
1789;  also  known  as  Haymarket 
Theatre  and  Italian  Opera);  248,  308, 
417,  419,  423,  426. 

Louvois,  Paris  (one  of  the  many  homes  of 
the  Opera  Bouffe)-,  10,  11, 13,  54,  80,  81, 
82,  88,  101,  112, 121,  130, 175,  179,  182, 
196,  203,  223,  228,  239,  248,  250,  269, 
283,  288,  289,  290,  291,  295,  298,  299, 
300,  302,  304,  324,  328,  337,  338,  350, 
354,  355,  362,  372,  384,  413,  416-427, 
437,  439,  442. 

Marais,  Theatre  du,  (Paris,  1600-1673);  296. 

Moscow,  State  Opera  House',  428. 

Od&on,  Theatre  de  l\  Paris  (1797);  302, 431. 

Opera,  Paris  (founded  1761;  also  known 
as  the  Opera-Francais,  the  Grand  Opera 
and  the  Theatre  de  la  Rue  Le  Peletier); 
7, 181,  188, 199,  202,  204, 289,  292, 294, 
297,  298,  302,  351,  421,  424,  425,  429, 
430,  439. 
Opfra-Comique,  Paris,  Built  1781,  known 


520 


LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 


originally  as  the  Salte  Favart,  later  as  the 
Opera-haUen  or  Opera  Bouffe. 
Pergola,  Teatro  delta,  Florence;  423. 
Porte-Saint-Martin,  Theatre  de  la,  Paris; 

280,  293,  302. 
Re,   Teatro,    Milan    (1796,    originally    il 

Teatro  Patriottico);  429. 
Regio,  Teatro,  Turin  (1738);  423,  433. 
San  Benedetto,  Venice;  70,  388,  411,  413. 
San-Carlo,  Naples  (1736,   rebuilt  1817); 
130,  147,  148,  149,  150,  158,  165,  217, 
220,  269,  303,  304,  308,  309,  312,  314, 
337,  359,  412, 413, 414, 428,429, 430-431, 
434,  435,  441-450. 

San-Mose>  Venice;  46,  47,  48,  403,  410. 
Sao-Carlos,  Lisbon;  413. 
Scala,  Teatro  della,  Milan  (originally  the 
Teatro  Ducale;  rebuilt  1778);  16,  33,  85, 
91,  123,  130,  139,  140,  141,  144,  146, 
182,  193,  259,  269,  288,  304,  329,  337, 
350,  355,  387,  410,  411,  412,  413,  417, 
418, 419, 424, 428-430, 434, 435, 438, 439, 
440,  441,  442. 

Thedtre-Francais,  Paris  (founded  1680; 
also  referred  to  as  Comedie-Franfaise. 
Moved  to  present  site  in  Palais-Royal 
in  1802);  83,  86,  179,  203,  254,  298,  299, 
346,  437. 
Valle,  Teatro  della,  Rome  (1726);  169,  237, 

409,  412. 
Varietes,  Thddtre  des,  Paris  (1790);    202, 

253. 

Vaudeville,  Theatre  du,  Paris  (1792);  202. 
Themistocles  (525-460  B.C.).    Athenian  states 
man  who  built  up  the  naval  and  commercial 
strength  of  the  city;  212. 
Thomas,     Antoine-L6onard     (b.     Clermont- 
Ferrand    1732;    d.    Lyon    1785).       French 
scholar  and  poet,  whose  most  competent 
work  is  an  Essai  sur  les  Eloges  (1773).  His 
verse  is  feeble  and  flat;  200. 
Tibere  (tragedy).  See  Ch6nier,  M.-J. 
Tiercelin  (1763-1837).    Famous  French  comic 
actor,   glory   of  the  Theatre  des   Varietes. 
Specialized  in  comedy  based  on  detailed 
observation  of  the  working-classes;  242. 
Titans,  les  (ballet).  See  Vigand. 
Titian  (Tiziano  Vecellio),  (b.  Pieve-di-Cadore 
1477;  d.  Venice  1576).  Venetian  painter;  35, 
230. 

Tito  di  Lorenzi  (Lorenzi,  Giovanni-Battista); 
(b.  Naples  17 19  ;d.  Naples  1807).  Neapolitan 
comic  dramatist  in  the  manner  of  Goldoni. 
His  works  include  La  Nina  Pazza  per  Amore 
(1789),  and  La  Modista  Raggiratrice  (la 
Scuffiara),  both  set  by  Paesiello;  49. 
Todi,  Luiza-Rosa,  nee  d'Aguiar  (b.  Setubal 
1753;  d.  Lisbon  1833).  Portuguese  mezzo- 
soprano,  originally  a  comic  actress.  Her 
operatic  debut  in  Paris  took  place  in  1778, 
and  for  the  following  five  years  her  rivalry 
with  la  Mara  (q.v.)  was  the  theatrical  sensa 
tion  of  the  city.  Later  she  sang  in  Berlin  and 
St  Petersburg.  Retired  in  1796;  318, 341,  365, 
366,  376. 
Todran,  Pietro.  Italian  bass,  member  of  the 

original  cast  ofTancredi;  411. 
Toni,  Sr.  A  printer  and  publisher;  7. 
Torquatp  Tasso  (drama).  See  Goldoni. 
Tortoni.   A  famous  cafe  on  the  corner  of  the 
boulevard  des  Italiens  and  the  rue  Taitbout, 
founded  by  the  Neapolitan  Velloni  in  1800, 
and  later  managed  by  Tortoni,  a  celebrated 
chef.  The  caf6  disappeared  c.  1887;  298, 299. 
TORVALDO  E  DORLiSKA.      Opera  by  Rossini. 
Libretto  by  Cesare  Sterbmi.  Performed  in 


Rome  on  the  26th  December  1815;  164,  167, 
169-170,  184,  412. 

Tosi,  Signorina.  Italian  singer  who  took  part 
in  the  first  performance  of  //  vero  Omaggio 
(Verona  1822);  415. 

Tottola,  Andrea  Leone.  Italian  poet  and 
librettist,  responsible  for  the  text  of:  la 
Gazzetta;  Mose  in  Egitto;  Eduardo;  la  Donna 
del  Logo;  Zelmira;  311,  313,  314. 

Traetta,  Tommaso-Michele-Francesco-Saverio 
(b.  Bitonto  1727;  d.  Venice  1779).  Italian 
composer,  a  pupil  of  Durante.  Debut  with 
Farnace  (Naples  1751).  Traetta  worked  in 
Parma,  Venice,  St  Petersburg  and  London, 
and  left  some  40  operas,  all  of  which  are  now 
forgotten;  119,  120. 

Tranquillo.  Painter  and  stage-designer,  who 
worked  mainly  for  la  Scala;  288,  419,  439, 
440. 

Transfiguration  (la  Trasfigurazione).  Painting  by 
Raphael,  now  in  the  Vatican. 

Treatise  on  Beauty.  See  Alison,  A.  Stendhal 
misquotes  both  author  and  title. 

Trent,  Archbishop  of;  163. 

Trento,  Vittorio  (b.  Venice  1761;  d.  Lisbon 
1833).  Italian  composer  of  ballet  and  opera. 
A  pupil  of  Bertoni,  his  first  opera  was  la 
Finta  Ammalata  (Florence  1793).  Worked  in 
London,  Amsterdam  and  Lisbon.  His  most 
popular  work  was  a.farsa:  Quanti  Cast  in  un 
(Jiorno  (Venice  1801);  26. 

Trois  Oranges,  les  (ballet).  See  Vigand. 

TURCO  IN  ITALIA,  IL.  Opera  by  Rossini.  2  acts, 
libretto  by  Felice  Romani.  Performed  at 
Milan,  14th  August  1814;  39,  13i>-146,  262, 
287,  395,  411. 

Turgot,  Anne-Robert-Jacques  (b.  Paris  1727; 
d.  Paris  1781).  French  statesman,  economist 
and  philosopher,  and  one  of  the  most 
notable  administrative  reformers  of  the 
XVIIIth  century.  Minister  of  Finance  1774-6. 
Leader  of  the  school  known  as  the  Physio 
crats;  30,  200,  293. 

Uomo,  V  (satirical  poem).   See  Buratti. 

Urfe,  Honor6  d'  (b.  Marseilles  1568;  d.  1625). 
French  writer,  whose  major  work  I'Astree 
(1610-27),  a  vast  pastoral  epic  in  prose,  is  to 
all  intents  and  purposes  the  first  French 
novel;  52. 

Vaccani,  Domenico.    Member  of  the  original 

casts  of  VEquivoco  stravagante  and  of  Giro 

in  Babilonia;  410. 

Valle,  Teatro  della,  Rome.  See  Theatres. 
Vallongue,  Joseph  Secret  Pascal-V.  (b.  Sauve 

1763;  killed  Gaeta  1806).    French  General 

(engineering  branch)  in  Napoleon's  army, 

who  was  also  a  competent  writer  and  poet. 

Fought  at  Aboukir  Bay,  Ulm  and  Austerlitz. 

Canova  left  a  portrait  of  him  in  sculpture: 

296. 

Vanarella,  la  (ballet).  See  Vigand. 
Varietes,  Thedtre  des.   See  Theatres. 
Vasoli,  Sr.  Singer,  member  of  the  original  casts 

of  la  Pietra  del  Paragone  and  il  Turco  in 

Italia;  85,  410,  411. 
Vaudeville,  theatre  du.  See  Theatres. 
Vauvenargues,  Luc  de  Clapiers,  marquis  de 

(b.  Aix-en-Provence  1715;    d.  Paris  1747). 

French  soldier  and  moralist;  a  melancholy 

optimist  with  a  striking  and  paradoxical 

style;  446. 
Velluti,  Giovanni  Battista  (b.  Montolmo  1780; 

d.   Bruson   1861).      Italian  male  soprano, 

trained  by  the  abb6  Calpi.  Dtbut,  Forli  1800. 


INDEX  AND  TABLE  OF  REFERENCES 


521 


Mis  greatest  triumphs  occurred  between  his 
visit  to  Vienna  in  1812,  and  his  visit  to 
London  in  1825;  131,  254-257,  265,  320,  329, 
330,  333,  339,  340,  341,  344,  345,  350,  353, 
356,366,411,415. 

Venice  Triumphant  (Trionfo  di  Venezia).  Painting 
by  Veronese  (#.v.)  now  in  the  Palazzo  Ducale, 
Venice;  213. 
Ventignano,  duke  of.    Librettist  of  Maometto 

Secondo;  383. 

Venus  and  /4<&>/ziXsculptural  group).See  Canova. 
Verni,  Sr.    Member  of  the  original  cast  of  la 

Cenerentola;  412. 

VERO  OMAGGIO,  JL.  Cantata  by  Rossini,  written 
for  the  Congress  of  Verona.  Text  by  Rossi. 
Performed  Verona,  Autumn  1822;  415. 
Veronese  (Paolo  Caliari,  known  as  il  K)  (b. 
Verona  1528;  d.  Venice  1588).  Italian  painter, 
influenced  by  Parmegianino.  One  of  Stend 
hal's  most  admired  artists;  213,  235,  270. 
Vestale,  la  (ballet).  See  Vigand. 
Vestale,  la.  Opera  by  Spontini,  libretto  by  de 
Jouy.  Paris  (Opera)  16th  December  1807.  A 
work  which  enjoyed  great  popularity  be 
tween  1820  and  1830;  270. 
Vestris  family:  famous  family  of  singers,  actors 
and  dancers,  including:  Gaetano-Appolino- 
Baldassare  (1729-1808),  dancer  and  choreo 
grapher  in  Paris;  his  son,  Marie-Jean- 
Augustin  (1760-1842),  dancer  in  Paris  and 
London;  Marie- Jean's  son,  Auguste-Armand 
0/7.  1790-1850),  actor  and  dancer  in  Italy; 
Auguste-Armand's  wife,  Lucia-Elisabeth 
Vestris,  nee  Bartolozzi  (1797-1856),  actress 
and  opera-singer  in  London;  and  Marie- 
Rose  Vestris,  nee  Gourgaud  (1743-1804), 
sister-in-law  of  Gaetano,  actress  in  Paris; 
405,  449. 

Vie  de  Marianne  (novel).   See  Marivaux. 
Vies  de  Haydn,  de  Mozart  et  de  Metastase. 

Critical  essays;  see  Stendhal. 
Vigand,  Vincenzina,  later  Signora  Mombelli 
(<?.v.),    sister    of   Salvatore.    Librettist    of 
Demetrio  e  Polibio;  135,  409. 
Vigand,  Elena  ("Nina").  Daughter  of  Salvatore. 

Singer  of  Venetian  popular  songs;  192. 
Vigan6,  Salvatore.  (b.  Naples  1769;  d.  Milan 
1821).  Italian  composer  and  choreo 
grapher.  For  details  of  Vigand's  ballets,  see 
note  to  p.  218;  8,  42,  185,  213,  218,  225,  240, 
260,  289,  318,  375,  435,  438,  439,  440,  444. 
Villars,  Pierre,  marquis  de  (b.  1623;  d.  Paris 
1698).  French  Lieutenant-General  and 
diplomat,  original  model  for  Mile  de 
Scud6ry's  character  of  Orondate  in  le  Grand 
Cyrus;  232,  233. 

Villemain,  Abel-Francois  (b.  Paris  1790;  d. 
Paris  1879).  French  critic  and  historian, 
professor  of  French  literature  at  the  Sor- 
bonne,  and  perpetual  secretary  of  the 
Academie.  In  youth  a  fierce  reactionary, 
Villemain  became  decidedly  more  liberal  in 
later  life.  His  works  include  an  Histoire  de 
Cromwell  (2  vols.,  Paris  1819)  and  a  series  of 
Discours  et  Melanges  Utter aires  (1823);  205, 
445. 

Vinci,  Leonardo  (b.  Strongoli  1690;  d.  Naples 
1730).  Italian  composer,  pupil  of  Greco. 
Debut  with  an  opsra  in  Neapolitan  dialect, 
Lo  Cecato  fauzo  (1719).  One  of  the  more 
vigorous  successors  of  A.  Scarlatti.  His  last 
opera  was  Artaserse  (Naples  1730);  116,  119, 
120. 
Virgil  (Publius  Virgilius  Maro,  70-19  B.C.). 

Latin  poet;  63,  98,  109,  136,  213,  220. 
Virginie  (opera).  See  Berton. 


Vita. ...  SeeAlfieri. 

Vitarelli,  Sr.  Italian  singer,  member  of  the 
original  casts  of  II  Barbiere  and  La 
Cenerentola',  412. 

Volney,  Constantin-Francois  de  Chasseboeuf, 
comte  de  (b.  Craon  1757;  d.  Paris  1820). 
French  scholar  and  philosopher  of  noted 
liberal  opinions.  Volney  was  among  the  first 
major  modern  orientalists.  His  Tableau  du 
Climat  et  du  Sol  des  Etats-Unis  d'Amerique 
was  published  in  2  vols.,  in  1803;  202. 
Voltaire  (Francois-Marie  Arouet,  known  as) 
(b.  Paris  1694;  d.  Paris  1778).   French  poet, 
dramatist,  historian,  philosopher,  etc.  For  a 
list  of  libretti  based  on  Voltaire's  plays,  see 
Grove;    43,  53,  58,  71,  96,  98,  99,  102,  116, 
124,  141,  167,  182,  187,  202,  211,  272,  274, 
310,  319,  348,  405,  451. 
His  works  include: 
Brutus  (tragedy)  1730;  98. 
Candide,    ou    VOptimisme    (philosophica 

novel)  1759;  202. 

Histoire  de  Charles  ^//(history)  1730;  124. 
Mahomet,  ou  le  Fanatisme  (tragedy)  1741 ; 

Tancrede  (tragedy)  1760;  211. 

Warwick  (tragedy).  See  La  Harpe. 

Weber,  Carl-Maria-Friedrich-Ernst  von  (b. 
Eutin  1786;  d.  London  1826).  German 
composer.  Operatic  debut  with  Das  Wald- 
madchen  (Freiburg  1800).  The  three  major 
operatic  works  which  in  fact  created  the 
German  operatic  tradition  were:  Der 
Freischutz  (libretto  by  F.  Kind,  based  on 
Apel  and  Laun's  Gespensterbuch;  18th  June 
1821,  Berlin);  Euryanthe  (libr.  by  Helmina 
von  Ch&zy;  Vienna  1823);  Oberon  (libr.  by 
J.  R.  Planch.6;  Covent  Garden  1826);  118, 
121,  250,  452. 

Weigl,  Josef  (b.  Kismartdn  1766;  d.  Vienna 
1846).  Austrian  conductor  and  composer. 
Debut  1783,  with  Die  unniitzige  Vorsicht. 
Worked  mainly  in  Vienna,  with  two  brief 
visits  to  Milan.  After  1827,  composed  only 
church  music.  His  finest  work  is  Die  Schwei- 
zerfamilie  (Vienna  1809);  French  version  as 
Emmeline,  ou  la  Famille  Suisse;  26,  27,  33, 
51,  59,  266,  281,  310. 

Wellington,  Arthur  Wellesley,  Duke  of  (b. 
Dublin  1769;  d.  Waimer  1852).  English 
general  and  conservative  statesman;  293. 

Weltz,  Mademoiselle.  A  teacher  of  music  and 
singing;  201. 

Werther  (novel).  See  Goethe. 

Wilhelm  Tell  (drama).  See  Schiller. 

Winter,  Peter  von  (b.  Mannheim  1754;  d. 
Munich  1825).  German  composer,  a  pupil  of 
Vogler,  trained  as  a  violinist.  In  opera,  his 
greatest  successes  included:  Maria  von 
Montalban  (1800);  Das  Unterbrochene 
Opferfest  (1796);  and  Maometto  Secondo 
(libr.  by  Felice  Romani),  la  Scala,  28th 
January  1817;  26,  33,  51,  59,  272,  281,  310. 

Zamboni,  Luigi  (b.  Bologna  1767;  d.  Florence 
1837).  Great  buffo  cantante,  debut  Ravenna 
1791.  Between  1807  and  1816  (when  Rossini 
wrote  him  the  part  of  Figaro),  he  was  at  the 
height  of  his  powers.  Retired  1825;  172,  412. 

Zauberflote,  die  (opera).    See  Mozart. 

ZELMIRA.  Opera  by  Rossini.  2  acts,  libretto  by 
A.-L.  Tottola,  based  on  tragedy  by  Du 
Belloy.  Performed  Naples,  16th  Feb.  1822. 
The  last  of  Rossini's  Neapolitan  operas;  120, 
121,  332,  364,  384,  414. 


522 


LIFE  OF  ROSSINI 


Zingarelli,  Niccold-Antonio  (b.  Naples  1752; 
d.  Torre  del  Greco  1837).  Italian  composer, 
trained  under  Fenaroli  as  a  violinist.  Dtbut 
(while  still  a  student)  with  /  quattro  Pazzi 
(1768).  Worked  mainly  for  la  Scala.  His  best 
operas  are  //  Mercato  di  Monfregoso  (1792) 
and  Giulietta  e  Romeo  (1796),  both  of  which 
held  the  stage  for  nearly  a  century.  He  left 
some  37  operas  in  all;  26,  27,  28,  65,  119, 
120,  121,  179,  234,  308,  341,  344,  362,  363, 
364,  372,  447. 

Zucchi,  Carlo  (b.  Reggio  Emilia  1777;  d.  1863). 


Italian  general  in  NapOleon*s  armies,  serving 
with  distinction  under  Prince  Eugene.  A 
patriot  and  a  liberal  politician,  he  spent 
much  of  his  later  life  in  prison;  91. 
Zucchelli  (Zuchelli),  Carlo  (b.  London  1792, 
of  Italian  parents).  Outstanding  Italian  bass, 
debut  Novara  1814.  Sang  Milan,  Venice  and 
London;  from  1822-1830,  was  leading  bass 
at  the  Paris  Optra-Boutfe;  24,  164,  169,  189, 
234,  238,  245,  283,  288,  316,  351,  412,  417, 
424,  434. 


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